


Of Monsters & Men -- Aftermath of Grindelwald

by 4ever_Rewritten



Series: Of Monsters & Men [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Another slowish burn, Credence is NOT a Dumbledore, F/M, I LOVE YOUR WORK, Nahuel gets his own tag, Non-canon world building, Obviously FBAWTFT 2 never happened, There would be spoilers if I added much more, also, because he is awesome and not from Twilight., but I can make it better, queenie is still amazing, rowling, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-01-07 01:24:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18400292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4ever_Rewritten/pseuds/4ever_Rewritten
Summary: Grindelwald has been arrested and the monster that threatened to destroy Manhattan and reveal the wizarding world turned out  to be nothing other than an Obscurus of Credence Barebone.Happy ever after, right? Not even close. Credence struggles with not only being thrust into a world he was taught to hate, but ripped from the only family he truly loved. Percival Graves is relieved of his position of Director, and not only has to defend his nephew from publicity and part of the Graves family as well, but deal with the lost of the only person he had fallen in love with.You.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For sure this time, my dear readers! The legit sequel polished and only half completed because I am impatient! 
> 
> I hope this flows better than my previous attempt. You might recognize a few scenes from my last attempt (which has been deleted), but a lot of it is new content.
> 
> A HUGE SHOUT TO MY BETA DOVAHGRIIN FOR PUTTING UP WITH MY LAZY ASSSS

Percival Graves strode boldly through the gilded lobby of MACUSA, ignoring the looks and whispers that followed him to the elevator. Red, the bell-goblin known for being unflappable no matter what, looked shocked for a moment when he opened the gates of the lift before giving a small crooked smile. “Long time no see,” the goblin greeted, which was about as a warm of a welcome as one could get from him. 

Percival graced him with a slight nod. The Healers at Mount Sinai had been adamant about him not leaving until they were sure they had done the best they could to counteract every dark curse and hex Grindelwald had subjected him to, which ended up taking over a week. “I presume you know where,” he said as he stepped next to the goblin, and the quirk of the goblin’s lips was answer enough as he worked his magic and the elevator started to plummet to the pits of the building. The goblins that served the MACUSA building knew just about as much as the secretaries: everything. 

The air had grown cold and damp by the time the elevator slowed to a stop. Red opened the grating and gave the wizard a nod. “I had known something was off with ya’s,” Red spoke as Percival stepped out of the elevator and into the cold corridor. “But I would never had imagined it was cause he was pretending to be you. And, eh,” the goblin paused before shrugging his hunched shoulders. “I don’t care if you did what they said you did. You’re still a decent wizard compared to most of them.” 

Percival met Red’s dark eyes, surprised. Usually the goblin was like a lot of his kin, taking snide shots at people, and rarely ever giving anything resembling an actual compliment. “Thank you,” he said after a moment, giving another slight nod. Red only shrugged, the tips of his ears a faint pink as he closed the grates of the elevator before it started its ascent back to the lobby. 

The doors of the rooms blended almost seamlessly with the dark granite walls, only marked by a plaque stating the room number and a brass door knob. Many of them he had used as interrogations rooms in the past, and it felt odd that he was not the one doing the questioning, but the one being questioned. 

To his surprise, he saw Picquery standing alongside the door, dressed in her usual regalia, her sleek planner in hand. The fountain pen scratched on the paper as she reworked her schedule with a faint frown on her face. “Madam President,” he acknowledged as he stepped near. The frown faded from her face, replace with a faint smile. 

She stuffed her planner into one of the deep pockets of her robes before turning to him. “Graves. I’m sorry that it had to be under these circumstances to see you again. How’s Credence?”

“Alvarez is convinced that they were successful, but he hasn’t shown any signs of waking up.” He had been at Mount Sinai’s Intensive Magic Care ward everyday, even when he was a patient himself in one of the other wards. Either sitting beside his bed, reading the outdated tabloids left on the bedside table, or whatever book the mediwiches cold find when the drivel of the tabloids was just too much. 

The frown returned to her face as she glanced at the door. “I tried to convince Congress to at least wait until the holidays were over, but some of them have rather strong feelings about this.” 

“I take it you’ll be presiding?” he asked, trying to be objective, but the idea gave him a small sliver of hope. At least one person would be on his side. 

“Of course, you think I would throw you to these sharks without at least one lifeline?” 

“That bad?”

Picquery only gave a quirk of her lips as an answer before opening the door. A curved table sat across from a lone hard chair. Six witches and six wizards sat behind the table, quietly conversing amongst themselves. A few he recognized: Belinda Mayberry, a young witch elected by the covens that ruled the Rocky Mountains of Wyoming and Colorado. She was often fair and offered him a reassuring smile. Madame Laveau sat next to her, a frown on her wizened face; which Percival thought was hypocritical. She had danced the line of breaking both Rappaport’s law and the Statute of Secrecy as she offered her services to both magical and no-maj alike in her younger years before faking her death in 1881. 

Chief Koyah came from Alaska, one of the many native tribes that lived in the state. He had a firm look on his tanned face, already passing judgement. In fact, many of those who sat behind the table had similar expressions as the quieted and stood as Picquery glided across the room to take the center chair. Madame Laveau remained standing as the others took their seats. 

“Percival Graves, Auror of the thirteenth degree, Director of Magical Security for the Magical Congress of the United States,” she started, her voice strong despite her age. “On December 8th of 1926, it was discovered that you had broken not only Rappaport's law, but the International Statute of Secrecy as well. We have evidence that you were aware that a female no-maj knew of magic, and yet you did not take appropriate action to erase her memory. What do you say in your defense?” 

“I broke the law for the case,” he started carefully. He had spent dozens of hours, _days_ , preparing for this, ever since he received the summons his second day after Grindelwald’s attack. “We knew that the Second Salemers were somehow related to the anomaly we now know was the Obscurus of Credence Barebone, and my Auror that was surveilling them failed in her mission. Credence shared a bond with the no-maj,” it hurt to call you that, but he feared saying your name aloud. He wasn’t sure he could be completely objective with your name on his lips revealing how close he had been to you. Not when he was barely able to _think_ your name without his heart clenching. “I believed that she could act as a spy of sorts. She could talk to Credence as well as watch the Second Salemers.” 

“We are well aware of Tina Goldstein's actions,” one of the ones he wasn’t familiar said with a scoff. “That night, December 3rd, the Emergency Response Unit had to obliviate over a dozen no-magics, many who were known Scourers, including Mary Lou Barebone. And yet you thought it was a wise decision to send an un-obliviated no-maj to a known Scourer group and question them about magic. And this no-maj, she had no training. She was a store clerk and a waitress. Why would you place so much trust in someone like that?” 

Percival’s heart clenched in his chest as he was careful to keep his mask in place. “I had known her for several months before everything happened. I had no doubt that she would not reveal our secret. I trusted her explicitly, and she did not fail me. It was her information that lead to discovering that not only was the anomaly an Obscurus, but that Credence Barebone was its host. I have no doubt that we could have resolved the matter quietly and peacefully if it wasn’t for Grindelwald’s interference.” 

“Your abduction was rather convenient,” Chief Koyah said almost lazily. “And then found by Joan Sayre just in time to save the day. Almost as if it was planned….” 

“If it was planned, it was by the Fates,” Percival rebutted as pointedly as he dared. “I highly doubt you mean to imply that I was working Grindelwald. I know Healer Sayre has been interrogated for her participation that night, including submitting to Veritaserum.” 

“Yes, she did.” Belinda shot Koya a dark look, as if just as disgusted by his implications. But then she turned to him with a faint frown on her face. “But during the… interview, it did come up that she did know you were tending to a ill no-maj female. I assume it would be the same one in question?” 

Shit. Sayre had known you were a no-maj? He hoped his inner turmoil wasn’t obvious as he hesitated for a short moment. “Yes, it was.” 

“Why you?” Madame Laveau asked. “Why did you tend to her, and not simply take her to a no-maj hospital?”

“With all due respect ma’am, have you seen no-maj’s so called attempt at medicine?” Picquery wasn’t the only one that had a silent huff a laughter paired with a slight smile. “I couldn’t leave her with them knowing that she would likely die.” 

“No-maj’s die every day,” Chief Koyah pointed out, no trace of a smile on his face. Only a hard, serious look in his dark eyes. “What made her so different?” 

His eyes met Picquery, though she wore a mask as he did. She had lectured him that very night after Grindelwald’s capture as soon as he slipped, so worn from everything he hadn’t watched his words as he told her everything. She knew exactly what made you so different. 

“I don’t know every no-maj, but I knew her. I couldn’t leave her, knowing she would die. Not when I could save her.” Merlin, he hadn’t been sure that he could save you. You had been so ill, he worried you would die anyways. He remembered clearly staying awake despite everything, just to make sure you kept breathing. 

“How close were the two of you?” Madame Laveau asked. “How did you come to befriend a no-maj?” 

 

A faint smile appeared on his lips. “As you may know, the half-wampus Nahuel, is a very strange cat.”

***

You went from peacefully asleep to being attacked by an eleven year old in the span of a second. Modesty laughed at your yelp after she crashed into you, the blankets providing little cushion from her boney arms and legs. “Get up already!” she whined as you tried to catch your racing heart. “It’s the first day of school!”

Oh. Right. She grudgingly sat up so you could do the same, though she bounced in place on your mattress, her pale eyes lit with excitement. You briefly grumbled to yourself, wishing for a moment she could be like other kids and hate the thought of school.

But, this was the first time in years that she got to go to an actual school. First time she got to be a regular girl, have the chance to make friends her own age.

Except it was six in the morning. You grumpily glared at the clock, then glanced back at your more-or-less adopted daughter who was still looking as if was christmas morning. A impish thought crossed your mind, and you grinned a second before attacking her with tickles. It was her turn to scream as she laughed, thrashing around on the bed. 

This was the life, you reflected as she finally slipped off the bed and dashed away, leaving you to get ready in peace. Yet there still something that felt...odd. Like something was missing as you went through your morning routine. But you pushed the thought aside, and instead focused on helping Modesty get ready. Which mostly consisted taming her fine fly-away hair into twin pigtails as she chattered away about life before being ‘adopted’ as a Barebone. Back when she had a gaggle of siblings and cousins, many who were older and in school. She had loved it when they would read to her, or better yet, help her read their books. 

It about killed you to hear her happy stories. Knowing out there somewhere she had kin. You had pieced together the story of how after her parents and oldest sister died from tuberculosis, all of her siblings had been placed in orphanages and ripped apart as they were illegally adopted out to various people across the country with no papertrail to follow. 

The backroom of the corner store was lit and warm as you followed the bouncing girl down the stairs. You grinned as you saw McNally trying to be nonchalant as he read the newspaper and sipped at his coffee but failing. Especially as Modesty dove towards him and he wrapped her up in a large bear hug. “Hey munchkin. What are you all dressed up for?” 

“I’m going to school,” she reminded him, still grinning. “So you’re going to have to sharpen your own pencils and file your own papers from now on.”

“Damn it. Losing my best secretary,” he grumbled goodnaturedly before his ears turned a faint pink as he pulled out a package from beneath his chair. “Here you go, to keep you warm. I know how drafty those school buildings can be.”

By the time Modesty eagerly donned the wool coat, pulling on the knitted cap and scarf, she was beaming even more. “Thank you so much grandpa!” she squealed as she gave him another hug, and you had to hold back your laughter at the shocked look on his face. Really though, despite his attempts to be gruff as usual, he was easily falling into the grandfather role. Especially as he kept finding any excuse to spoil her with toys or treats. 

It wasn’t until you were on your way home after dropping Modesty off at the small school a few streets over that your mood took that familiar spiral downwards. You stopped with a sigh, looking up at watching the snow float down lazily. It had been a week since you woke up from that nightmare. You couldn’t remember anything except darkness and pain, but ever since you felt like you were living in a haze. 

Something wasn’t right. Something was missing. You were forgetting something. It drove you up the wall as the ache remained in your chest, growing strong in the quiet moments. 

Something bumped you leg, drawing you out of your thoughts. Your gaze met piercing yellow eyes as you looked down at the tawny cat rubbing against your leg, your heart giving an odd thump.

***

Queenie sat in the chair she had transfigured by Credence’s bed, reading an old issue of _Cosmopolitan Witch_. The ward at Mount Sinai hospital was busy, with mediwitches and Healers busily darting between beds and barely paying her any attention. After all, since they finally allowed visitors, Queenie had become a virtual fixture at the young wizard’s side when Graves wasn’t able to.

Even in the magical-induced coma, Credence had continued to repress his magic with an iron will. Alvarez had yelled at the deliberating board of Healers as they continued to argue amongst themselves. They didn’t have forever to try and figure out the best option, they had a week at _best_ to fix the problem before the pent-up magic killed the young man. And possibly anyone in close proximity. 

They settled on _Animus Vox_ : a revised version of a medieval magical-siphoning spell, something akin to the no-maj idea of blood-letting. Considered archaic and even Dark, the thought of using such magic had many scoffing at first until no one came up with a better idea. Implementing it had been a perilous ordeal, but it had slowly released the pent up magic until they were sure the Obscurus--not just a side-effect of the pent-up magic, but strange entity that was bonded strongly to Credence-- wouldn’t burst out and kill the young man and everyone else in close proximity. 

Now they just had to wait. And Queenie was determined that if Graves couldn’t be there for him, she would. 

Loud voices suddenly broke the hushed ambiance of the ward as the double doors slammed open, and an older man with salt-and-pepper cropped hair and a black cane stormed in with pinched expressions on his face. He surveyed the dozens of beds, searching intently for someone. “Where’s Percival,” the man snapped at mediwitch that had approached him, loud enough Queenie could here on the far side of the room. 

“I’m sorry sir, but you need to lower your voice or you will have to leave….” A mediwitch meekly approached him, with a concern frown on her face.

“Absolutely not!” he roared, striking his cane on the floor, magic sparking around him. The mediwitch jumped, and several more came to aid her. “I am _not_ leaving until my son answers for what he did!”

“Sir, I’m sorry,” a larger woman spoke up, meeting his sharp gaze. “But I am going to have to insist you leave.”

Queenie adjusted in her seat, gripping her wand and expecting the worse. “I know Percival is here somewhere,” Graves Senior growled, “hiding from the mess he has created. I am not leaving until I talk with him.”

“What in Ixtlilton’s name is going on here?” Alvarez swore as she appeared at the door, looking both concerned and annoyed at the mess around her. 

Movement in the corner of her vision caught Queenies attention and she looked back at Credence. His eyes were closed but he was no longer relaxed but tense, obviously pretending to sleep. She turned away from the argument thundering near the double doors, and put a hand on Credence’s fist, which was trembling by his side. “Honey, it’s okay. You’re safe.” 

His eyes shot open, a pure milky-white before his dark irises slowly appeared into view and met hers. His thoughts overwhelmed her with the eye-contact; his mind a raging storm that was hard to make heads-or-tails of. There was so much fear. Worry. Panic. Where was he? Were you okay? Was Modesty okay? What happened? The night of Grindelwald’s attack was fuzzy to his sleep-addled mind, and he couldn’t piece the fragmented memories of being the Obscurus _the beast_ in a way that made any kind of sense. 

“You’re okay,” Queenie repeated softly, squeezing his hand. “You’re family is okay too. Right now you’re at Mount Sinai hospital, you’ve been asleep for quite a while.” She looked up and caught the attention of one of the mediwitches tending to a patient a few beds over. The witch in pale blue robes opened her mouth, about to ask what Queenie needed before she realized Credence was awake; shifting to sit up in the small bed but never letting go of Queenie’s hand. 

The mediwitch hurried towards where Alvarez was on the verge of stunning Graves Senior. She tugged on the Healer’s white robes and whispered into her ear. Alvarez’s head whipped around, her eyes focusing on Credence’s briefly before she turned towards Graves Senior and with the flick of her wrist his mouth sealed shut. “I am not going to argue with you any longer. Director Graves hasn’t visited since yesterday. And if you don’t leave, I will have you thrown out and barred from visiting ever again.” Giant orderlies prevented the older wizard from retaliating as the small Healer turned and strode across the ward towards her star patient.

Credence hadn’t said a word, but his hand was tight in Queenie’s. Especially when the severe look on Alvarez’s face didn’t change when she reached the bed. Instead of greeting or even introducing herself, she grabbed the clipboard resting at the foot of the bed and tapping her wand on it before silently studying the paper intently. 

He looked towards Queenie, who gave a slight smile. “Do you remember me? Probably not, we only met once before….” 

“You told me she was okay,” he spoke, his voice hoarse from non-use. Or maybe grief when he spoke your name. “You’re her friend, right? Is she….” He trailed off, glancing around the ward, hoping you would appear out the mass of pale blue and white robed people hurrying from one bed to another. 

Realization struck Queenie, making her stomach turn and her heart ache. He didn’t know. He didn’t know that you no longer remembered he even existed. 

She didn’t have a chance to even try and explain. Alvarez sat the clipboard down and focused on the young man. “How are you feeling?” she asked bluntly. “Headache? Nausea? Are you feeling weak? Dizzy?” 

“I-I feel fine” he stuttered automatically when she paused before taking a brief moment and realizing he actually did feel...fine. The mild headache he had withstood for years was actually gone. He felt lighter; like being able to breathe freely after a long cold. And the beast…. It wasn’t roaring at him, pressing against his will and struggling for release. That wasn’t to say it was necessarily gone, just… quiet. It rested in that small dark place in his mind where it lived, but still aware of everything going on. 

“Good,” Alvarez nodded, satisfied with his answer. “You’re doing much better than expected. Heck, some of my colleagues were not even sure you would wake up. We’ll continue to monitor your magic levels, but the next step is getting you a wand so you can properly control your magic.” 

There was stunned silence as he tried to comprehend her words. Magic. Wand. Was this a dream? No one spoke of magic so blatantly, or as if the subject was so familiar. Not unless….

Credence finally woke up enough to take a proper look at his surroundings. The fact that the short wizened woman before him held an intricate-designed wand in her hand. That the people flitting from bed to bed, from patient to patient, each bore a wand as well, performing magic to change bandages, fluff pillows, or serve food. A few beds had miniature cauldrons on their bedside table, foaming and steaming with contents and with a flick of a wand, a glass would fill itself with its contents. 

“Magic is real, and it’s not evil,” Queenie said, breaking through his thoughts. She squeezed his hand reassuringly and offered a soft smile. “And neither are you.” 

“You’re a wizard,” Alvarez clarified at the confused look on his face. “And an Obscurial: a host for a thing known as an Obscurus. It’s created when young witches and wizards suppress their magic. Usually they kill their host by age eleven. You are literally, and luckily, the first one known to actually survive.” 

That took a moment to sink in. He had always suspected he had magic. Things often happened when he wished hard enough as a kid. He had been no more than five years old, and learned he could make the pie plate float down to where he could reach it. Unfortunately, Mary Lou had seen the entire thing, and he quickly learned his lesson. After that, he tried to convince himself he did not have magic. That it was evil, like those who chased the beast and caused him pain. 

And that night. Everything came flooding back. The man — Mr. Graves — had attacked Modesty. And then chased him across the city. And then… and then….

You. You, down on your knees, begging with tears in your eyes. Reassuring that even with magic, you still loved him. You didn’t care if he was a--a wizard or not. 

He shouted your name, startling everyone in the ward. He ignored them and missed Queenie’s pained look as he turned towards the Healer. “Where is she? She…. He attacked her. Is she okay?” You had been screaming, writhing in pain from that--that impostor. Whomever that had been, he wasn’t the man you had spoke so fondly of. 

Alvarez looked confused, glancing to Queenie for clarification. Queenie bit lip and placed a hand on his shoulder. “She’s okay, honey. I promise.”

Credence turned towards her, and she didn’t need her Legilimency to know what he was thinking. _‘Then why isn’t she here?’_

***

President Picquery had a grim expression across her beautiful face, but Percival could see the conflict in her dark eyes. She hated this outcome, the court’s final ruling. The High Court of MACUSA sat around the room, dressed in their culture’s traditional robes, leading to a menagerie of colors.

“Percival Graves; Auror of the thirteenth degree, Director of Magical Security for the Magical Congress of the United States,” Picquery started, standing a little taller. “The Supreme Court of Mages finds you guilty of transgression of Rapaport’s law and the International Statute of Secrecy. Such crimes are punishable by death. However,” she paused, her face becoming less grim. “We acknowledge your services as Director, and agree with that what was done was necessary for the good of both wizarding and non-wizarding kind. So your sentence shall be reduced to this: you will be stripped of your post as Director of Magical Security effective immediately. You will retain the title of Auror of the thirteenth degree, but placed on mandatory leave until a new Director is initiated and they will assign you as the see fit. They will also reserve the right to dismiss you if they do not feel confident in your abilities. Do you understand?”

He bowed his head, “Yes, madam president.” Honestly, this was the best outcome he could have hoped for after everything came to light. His affair with you, the ordeal with Credence, Grindelwald and everything he had done. Everything had been laid bare before the High Court of Mages, and Picquery was right: he could have easily been sentenced to death. 

This was merely a slap on the wrist compared to that. 

Not long ago, it would have devastated him to lose the mantle of director. He had fought so hard for it, and he had done so much to whip the whole department and its many divisions into shape. But now, the loss of you hurt worse that the simple title. Besides, he had more pressing matters to concern himself with; Credence, for example. Stuck in a magically-induced coma as Healers from around the world tried to figure how to treat an Obscurus without harming the host. Hell, Percival was still trying to grapple with the demons that Grindelwald had left behind. Nightmares haunted him every time he closed his eyes, twisting reality and making it so he hadn’t been the only one bound in that cell, subjected to the Dark Wizard’s whims. He felt too naked, to bare, to part with his wand for even a brief moment. He thought he had been paranoid before, but now every shadow held a threat of an attack. 

The first few nights home, it was only because of Nahuel’s watchful gaze that he got some sleep. The half-wampus stood watch at the foot of his bed at night, giving him some relief. 

After Picquery left, followed by the twelve judges, Percival finally was able to leave. He took no time as he returned to the lobby, barely acknowledging people with a nod of his head when they called his name. As soon as he left the anti-apparition wards, he disappeared in a flash and reappeared in Mount Sinai’s lobby. 

The lobby was nearly as expansive as Macusa’s, with walkways criss-crossing above, stretching into what seemed like eternity. Yet even in the middle of the afternoon, there was heavy silence that permeated the building, similar to that found in libraries. Any conversations were held in hushed voices, and everyone who passed him in the hall barely gave him any notice, wrapped up in the tragedies of their own lives. 

The entrance to the MIC had a large desk next to the double doors, with a giant orderly in a dark suit standing guard. A few mediwitches sat at the desk, along with a familiar Healer-in-training, who looked up as he approached. “Director Graves!” Joan passed her chart off onto a mediwitch before hurrying to meet him at the door. “What are you doing here? Didn’t you receive Healer Alvarez’s pigeon?”

That made him pause just as the orderly opened the door for them. “What do you mean?”

“Mr. Barebone woke up.”


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Angst! And...and yeah, just more angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I'm not late because it's not Tuesday YET.

“We had to transfer him somewhere more secure, so we took him to the Changeling ward.” Joan had to hurry to keep up with Percival as the wizard stormed the halls, his legs far longer than her own.

The Changeling ward was a wing in the hospital dedicated for magical children born to no-maj parents, who were not dealing well with the loss of their family. Percival had only been there a few times, and it always made him feel rather ill to see children locked up like that. “Granted, he isn't exactly a child,” Joan continued despite growing out of breath. “But it's the only part of the hospital created to withstand wild and unfocused magic. Even after we siphoned all that magic, he’s been very… difficult.”

Difficult was putting it lightly. The Changeling ward had isolated rooms, with a window to allow staff to monitor the children. Usually they were in the varying stages of grief. Anger. Sadness. Begging. Resignation. 

But today, they were all either huddled in the corners of their rooms or beneath their beds in terror, or plastered against the glass and trying to see what was causing the commotion. 

Healers, Orderlies, and Mediwitches were huddled around the last room in the long corridor, the iron door was locked but rattling angrily. Percival at first thought the lights were out in the room before realizing the blackness was a thing. The Obscurus. It thrashed around it’s prison like a caged sandstorm. Even with the muffelo charms, Percival could hear the unearthly shrieks of the Obscurus/Credence.

While the Healers and other staff were hotly debating their options with detached professionalism, Queenie stood near the door with one hand on the glass, her eyes red and tears trailing down her cheeks. Percival put a hand on her shoulder, making her jump slightly and turn towards him. “What happened?” He asked softly but firmly. 

Queenie took a moment try and gain control of her voice, but it was still weak and hoarse as she explained what had happened. She and Alvarez tried to be gentle breaking the news to Credence that you, Modesty, and virtually everyone else in the no-maj world no longer remembered him. 

The reaction had started slow with small bits of accidental magic that had been more-or-less expected, but they quickly grew as realization sunk into Credence mind. He was alone. The family that he had found: his little sister, you, McNally — the only people who had ever loved him — no longer knew he even existed. 

“We tried charms,” she continued, brushing away new tears that formed. “Alvarez even forced a dose of calming drought down his throat, but the only good it did was keep him somewhat controlled as we brought him here. Once the door shut…” she trailed off, gesturing to the raging Obscurus. 

Percival was silent as he watched his nephew rage inside. He had figured Credence would have a hard time transitioning, but he hadn’t quite expected this. Perhaps he should have. 

“Let me talk to him.” His voice quieted the group of Healers, all of them giving him a strange look, as if he just offered to sacrifice himself. 

After a moment, however, a thoughtful expression crossed Alvarez’s face before she nodded. “We could do that. Perhaps someone he knows will help him regain control.” Automatically, her peers scoffed and protested, but a raised hand from her silenced them. “Does anyone have a better idea?”

There was a moment of silence before one of the other Healers pointed out: “We’ll have to create a shield over the door to prevent him from escaping and wreaking havoc in the rest of the hospital.” 

“Perhaps a _protego maxima_? Would that work against an Obscurus?” An unfamiliar Healer offered after a moment. 

“It is generally useful against dark creatures,” a second cautiously agreed. “And it doesn’t hurt them either.”

“Who’s the best at charms? Or should we do a dual-cast?”

“Joan, come here,” Alvarez motioned to the Healer-in-training who had been standing to the side, watching everything with large, terrified eyes. “We’ll do it together. This will be perfect training for you.”

The meek witch stepped forward. She was technically taller than Alvarez, but still came off as smaller than the older Healer. Alvarez walked her through the steps before nodding at the Orderlie standing by the door. “Okay, as soon as the door is open, cast.” 

The giant pulled the iron door open with a creak, and the Obscurus seemed to pause in confusion, giving Alvarez and Sayre time to cast the shielding charm. Golden light flared across the door before fading, only to flare whenever the Obscurus, Credence, proded at the opening cautiously. He was no longer thrashing about wildly, but was settling like when Percival had found him in the subway tunnels. It gave the wizard the confidence to step closer. “Credence,” he started slowly. “I understand you’re upset, and you have every right to be.”

The sand-like substance of the Obscurus coalesced, and Credence appeared on the other side of the charm. The younger man’s eyes were bloodshot as he glared back. The Healers were astonished by the change, and quickly yet quietly started muttering to each other. Apparently they hadn’t realized Credence had control. “You promised me she would be okay,” Credence accused coldly, his fists shaking. His whole body shook, as if he could explode again without a moment’s notice. “You lied to me.”

“I did what I had to,” Percival defended calmly. “But I promise, she’s okay. Your sister is okay. They are all okay.”

“They don’t remember,” Credence snarled. “They-they don’t remember anything. They don’t remember _me._ ” 

The last part of his sentence was spoken with so much hurt it about killed Percival. “No, they don’t, but she knew this would happen,” Percival continued, speaking your name for the first time since he held you that last time. “She knew I would eventually have to obliviate her. She made me promise that I would help you.” Credence didn’t say anything, but the anger started to fade and his form stopped shaking. “She wanted the best for you. She loved you.” 

That finally cracked the rage. Tears were running down Credence’s face as he slumped to the floor. He curled up into a ball, pressing his face into his knees and fingers twisting in his own hair while his shoulders shook as he tried to stay quiet. 

Queenie said something to Alvarez, and the shield faded away to the protest of the others. Queenie pushed past Percival, kneeling down beside the young man and pulling him close, murmuring soothingly.

***

Percival hated returning home. Every night, he found himself procrastinating, finding some little minor reason to delay his return. Grindelwald had destroyed his apartment in search of information, and while his Aurors had reportedly restored it to its former glory, it still wasn’t the same.

The biggest reason he didn’t want to return was the because of the memory of you. It had felt empty enough when you had returned home after your stay, but he had been able to see you virtually every day. Your scent had lingered on the sheets even after Queenie cleaned them, so he had been able to fall asleep with your scent surrounding him, all but burying his face in the pillow you had used. 

But it was gone now. Any little sign of your presence, from the books laying on the side table, the blanket you had draped in the armchair you had claimed. All of those little things erased. 

Just like your memories. 

He hesitated at the door, finding it hard to take that final step just like every night. Grindelwald had ruined everything. He had taken everything from him, leaving nothing but nightmares and one of the largest scandals in modern history. 

Especially after President Picquery and the rest of Macusa went against the demands of virtually every other magical government and had the dark wizard executed within days of catching him. 

A soft noise drew him out his thoughts. Nahuel blinked at the obsidian wand pointed towards him before he rubbed his whiskers on the object with a purr. The wampus bore a few scars from his encounter with Grindelwald, his tawny fur missing in odd patches, but otherwise seemed completely unbothered. Percival relaxed, tucking his wand away before kneeling to scratch the wampus between the ears. “Sorry, I’m a bit jumpy.” 

Nahuel chirped, accepting the apology. A twitch of his nose at the door opened it a crack, allowing him to slink inside. Percival hesitated, trying to brace himself before he pushed the door open. 

Everything was picturesque; which was nothing like it had been even before Grindelwald. He picked up his reading glasses that was sitting on the writing desk with a bitter smile. He could still remember you so clearly with them perched on your nose and an impish smile your lips. He could clearly remember how he had kissed that smile away. Kissed every inch of skin on the body he had lusted after. Every gasp and moan that had escaped your lips had been a thousand times better than what he had imagined. 

Being able to fall asleep with you curled in his arms had been better than heaven itself. 

He wanted to see you so badly. Even if it was just a glance through a window, anything to assure himself that you were okay. The ring linked to yours was comforting, but he needed to see your smile. To see for himself you were adjusting to your new life. To be sure that he hadn’t lied to Credence once more. 

He was moments away from giving into his desire when a sharp rap at the door broke the silence. There was a rush of wariness despite the dark-magic detectors remaining silent. He held on to his wand tightly when he opened the door despite expecting Picquery, Queenie, or perhaps one of his Aurors. 

Anyone but his sister. 

Eleanor had her perfected faux-smile in place as she pushed past him with a bejeweled hand. “Such a quaint little place you have, Percy,” she commented as she surveyed the apartment, looking out of place in her deep emerald evening gown and black fur coat. “Very… small.” 

Percival cursed quietly, feeling his headache returning with a vengeance. Out of anyone, she was the last person he expected, let alone wanted, to see. “I’ve already had this discussion with our father,” he growled. “I am not going to lie to save face, and I’m not apologizing either.”

Eleanor took a seat in the armchair you had once claimed, making his skin crawl even more. After spending so much time with Credence, he could see the similarity in her sharp face and tall, thin frame. But that was it. Her dark hair was long with flicks of silver, and her eyes weren’t soft and scared, but sharp and almost predatory.

Then again, he always did liken her to a vulture. 

“Oh, please. I’m not worried about our family’s honor,” she scoffed, waving a hand lazily. “A few tears and a sob-story about a squib first-born and my virtue will be saved.” Her smile grew to match her eyes; “No, I’m here to gloat.”

Percival’s eyes landed on his glasses, the ring on his finger suddenly heavy on his finger. “Leave.”

“Not yet.” Her smile only grew as she leaned back in the chair. Just that small of a reaction and she knew she found his weak spot. And like their entire childhood, she couldn’t wait to exploit it. “Could you imagine my surprise when I read the New York Ghost? The honorable Percival Graves, sworn to uphold the law, eager to rub my nose in my sordid affair, had one of his own.” Percival remained silent, though the expression on his face spoke volumes, which only made her smile more as she picked up a dark-magic detector sitting on the coffee table. It stayed dormant, though in Percival’s honest opinion, it should be spinning ablaze in the presence of such a person. “They’re quaint things, aren’t they? Joseph was so funny with his no-maj beliefs. It was always fun to play with his head. Did you play your own games with her, I wonder? Enjoyed the power you held over her? Was she in awe, or did she cower in fear when you showed her real magic?”

“Leave,” he snarled, barely able restrain his rage. “I’m really not in the mood.” 

Eleanor just kept grinning like a cat playing with a mouse. “No. I quite enjoy seeing you suffer from the hypocrisy. How did one of those journalists put it? ‘Fallen from grace: The _former_ Director of MACUSA Security caught with No-maj woman.’ It was one of the few articles not making mincemeat of Grindelwald and that squib.” 

“That squib is your son,” Percival snapped, and the glass detector ih her hand shattered from the lash of uncontrolled magic. He barely noticed. “Do you even care about anyone besides yourself? You abandoned that boy on the doorstep of a family that hated him. Abused him. The eighteen years of suffering he endured that ended with him becoming an Obscurial is your fault. And have you even visited him?”

“Merlin, why would I do that?” she scoffed, healing the wounds of her hand with a touch of her wand, unconcerned by her brother’s temper. “I’ve already tired myself out pretending to be devastated by the news. I don’t want to go there and have to act the part of a joyful but contrite mother.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re still pathetic,” she looked back up, smirking. “Tell me, was it true that you actually loved her? Everyone is trying to justify that the no-maj was close to the squib, but I hear that you actually fell in love with her.”

Percival’s grip on his wand tightened as the silence wore on, both refusing to look away from the other. For Eleanor, the answer was evident by the silence paired with the look on his face. “Merlin’s balls, you actually fell in love with a no-maj,” she whispered before laughing harshly like a jackal. “And here I thought you had finally grown a pair, but you’re still so… pathetic.”

He stood still, staring at the back of the chair even after she stood, refusing to move or look at her as she sashayed out of the apartment without further word. 

But as soon as the door shut, the apartment exploded from his rage.

*** 

Tina was tired as she finally stumbled into the apartment she shared with Queenie. It was well past midnight, so she expected her sister to be asleep. Except Queenie was awake, working on her next dress. The mannequin was draped in pale pink silk, the bodice pinned already as the blonde was trying to decide the length.

“Welcome home,” Queenie greeted without looking up, the tip of her wand trailing up the skirt to create slit that trailed up past the knee and ending just short of the curve of the waist. 

“Bad day, too?” Tina guessed after a moment. More often than not, the racier the design, the more stressed Queenie was. 

“Credence woke up today.” Queenie stood up, stretching slightly. Tina could see straight through her weak smile. 

“And?”

The smile faded, and Queenie walked over to her sister, pulling her into a tight hug. Tina barely hesitated for a moment before quickly wrapping her arms around her sister’s small waist. “He misses his family,” she croaked into Tina’s wool coat. “We took him away from his family, Tina. That’s all he ever wanted was to be with them.” 

Tina clutched her sister a little tighter as she continued to cry into her shoulder. “It’ll be okay,” she soothed, running a hand through her sister’s hair. “We knew this would happen.” And Tina had worried about this when Queenie spent more and more time at Credence’s side, swayed by both his tragic story as well as having that shared pain. Losing the no-majs they loved; platonic or otherwise. 

After a long moment, Tina pulled back, grabbing a tissue from her pocket and handing it to Queenie. “We’ll be there for him. Between us and Mr. Graves, I’m sure everything will be okay.”


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still more story building as Credence is introduced to the wizarding world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might notice that these first few chapters are going to feature more Percival and Credence than Reader. Everything is going to come together eventually , I promise.

It wasn’t uncommon for nightmares to wake Credence. Usually Mary Lou was the main villain as well as the cause of them, but now he woke from a dream of a shape-shifting man hunting you and Modesty, and he was unable to do anything but watch. Both of you were screaming in pain. Screaming for him to help. But he couldn’t do anything. 

The disorientation took longer to pass when he woke to the small hospital room, lit softly with floating lights that slowly brightened as he sat up. It was a gloomy reminder that part of his nightmare was real. He had lost both you and Modesty. The two people he cared for the most. He even missed McNally who had shown him more kindness with a few gruff words than everything Mary Lou had ever done. 

The unsettling feeling of the beast trying to break free was eerily absent. Usually when he woke from nightmares he had to fight to keep it contained. But now… now it was just a faint unpleasantness. A buzz of a lone angry bee instead of a whole hive. He forced himself to relax, allowing that forbidden power to wash through him. It didn’t flood through him like a raging river, but like a slow lazy creek, manifesting as a handful of black shadows that danced around his fingers. 

Magic. He wasn’t a monster or hellspawn, but a wizard. He still couldn't fully believe it. 

A stack of book sat on the side table caught his attention. He pulled the first book off the stack; an old weathered tome inscribed with gold lettering _‘A Brief History of Magic’_ and opened it cautiously. Mary Lou’s fervent sermons echoed in his mind about the wickedness of magic and that spell books were often possessed by demons. But when he opened it, the only thing different from a typical book was the pictures moving slightly. No howling darkness or demon leaping from the pages to possess him. 

_ Many scholars have searched for the origin of magic, or when humans started to develop magical tendencies. What is certain is that every culture in the world possess what we call witches and wizards, although how the use magic varies greatly. All cultures, however, generally uses an object to channel magic, be it wands, crystals, bones, or something else. It is interesting to note that many of the conduits are, more often than not, parts of the earth... _

***

Queenie didn’t even try to go to work, and instead sent a note saying she had another one of her migraines. Tina would likely be upset as usual, but maybe this time she would understand. She had known what Credence had went through, and how much the poor boy needed someone right now.

Her poor sister. Queenie knew Tina was having a hard time at work — the whole of MACUSA was a mess. Well, except the wand registry office; that was still as boring as usual. Though even her supervisor, Mr. Abernathy, had been acting a little funny since everything else had fallen into chaos. Granted, he had never been the most stable person anyways. 

“Grand Opening of Jacob's Bakery!” A kid shouted as he ran down the sidewalk, darting between people as he also shoved fliers towards the people he passed. “Best bakery in all of Manhattan!”

Queenie was frozen in place as the boy ran by, and he took the chance to shove a colored paper into her hand. She hadn’t misheard him. Jacob’s Bakery. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest. It could be a coincidence, but something told her it wasn’t. Jacob loved cooking, and he desperately wanted to open his own bakery. Maybe his dream had finally come true. That quaint place he had imagined so clearly, from the warm welcoming scent of freshly baked bread. Frosted cookies and rolls sitting in small display cases where children who press their noses in eager excitement. 

She shouldn’t. She really, really shouldn’t. 

Queenie glanced at the street signs. Five blocks. He was just five blocks away. She could take a quick detour. No one would know. She would just check in on him, make sure he was doing okay, maybe have one of those cinnamon rolls he had been so proud of, and then she would continue on her way to Mount Sinai. It wouldn’t take more than a few minutes. 

The closer she was, the faster she ran. Her heels clacked on the pavement as she hurried through the crowds of people, darting and dodging between them without any mind to the shouts or cat-calls that followed. Everything else fled her mind, leaving just the desperate hope to see him again. Her Jacob. The no-maj whose mind was unlike anyone else's. 

Many people had thoughts that yelled and screamed at her. They forced their way into her mind, scratching at her own thoughts and feelings, threatening to overwhelm her. But Jacob’s...his was quiet. Soothing. Like a peaceful clear lake. It didn’t try to drown her, but allowed her to float on the surface with barely a ripple. 

The bakery was squished between two tall dark buildings that were in stark contrast with the white paint and wide windows. The front window proudly proclaimed the name etched in black and gold lettering, as well as offered a glimpse inside. More than a few people were inside, and she could catch the faint sweet scent from across the street. She paused for a moment, straightening her coat and hat before marching across the streets, trying to act casual. And probably failing, considering the nerves that jittered in her chest. 

The warmth and aroma felt welcoming as she opened the door, the bell chiming along with the chorus of _‘hellos!’_ by the staff. But she paid them no mind.   
Her eyes landed on Jacob and it was like the rest of the world melted away. He looked so happy, a large smile on his face as he passed a pastry box to a customer, chuckling at something they said. 

His eyes drifted over to hers, whether by coincidence or perhaps he felt her staring. She didn't even think as she slipped inside his mind, aching for that calm clear lake amongst the buzz of everyone else. 

He recognized her. A firework show erupted above the lake as memories rushed back to hime. Newt, Tina. Her. He remembered it all. His smile widened as she pressed her hands to her lips to stop from screaming in joy. Especially when he breathed her name like a prayer.

***

Percival returned to Mt. Sinai the next day around mid-morning, feeling worse than when he left the night before. The small bits of sleep he had managed to catch was plagued by nightmares and bittersweet memories.

He had given in to that deep need to see you after his sister’s visit, hoping that it would quell at least some of pain. He knew he couldn’t talk to you; just being near you he felt would be too much of a temptation. So he staged a casual stroll by the corner store, and paused as if to look the displays in front of the windows. 

No customers had been inside, allowing you a moment to yourself. You had been leaning on the counter, staring into space with a frown twisting your features and worry evident on your face. You had looked so lost. So confused. He wanted to step inside, wipe the frown off your face and replace it with your usual smile. Make you laugh. Blush. Anything to replace that forlorn expression that wrenched his heart in two. 

But he couldn’t.

He didn’t miss the side glances and whispers of the Healers and Mediwitches as he made his way towards the quiet ward Credence had been transferred to after yesterday. Undoubtedly the verdict of yesterday's trial had hit the early morning papers and then the tabloids. Each writer spinning it in a different way to suit their needs and to sell more papers. 

_‘Director Graves: fallen from grace’_ indeed. He knew the only reason he wasn’t dead for his crimes was because he had friends in high places. In any other case that would anger him, but when it saved his own life...well, he understood things a little bit better. 

When Percival reached the small room assigned to Credence, he was surprised to see the young man sitting crossed-legged on the hospital bed, reading a text on charms. He watched as the young wizard mouth an incantation, silently moving his hand as if he had a wand. His dark eyes looked up from the book to the glass of water on the side table, an expression of determination as he repeated the motion, causing the glass to float up a few inches before it clattered back down, the water sloshing slightly but not spilling.

Despite the fact he was casting wandless magic without any proper training, the literal day after he found out he was a wizard, Credence frowned as returned his attention to the book. As if he failed to understand something, and not the fact he was untrained in even the basics. 

The younger wizard jumped when Percival clapped his hands, fear returning to his expression. “That was impressive,” he reassured with a smile. “Once you have a wand, I’m sure you’ll master it in no time.”

Credence fidgeted in his seat, having difficulty holding his gaze. A long, awkward silence filled the room before Percival sighed. “I know things are hard right now, but I promise, you won’t be left to fend for yourself. I… I promised her that I would take care of you, and I don’t intend to fail either of you again.”

“Did… did you love her?” Credence whispered, idly paging through the textbook, though one finger held his place. “She always… when she talked about you… I thought you loved her too.” 

It felt like a knife twisting in his chest. How was he supposed to answer that? Percival had tried to downplay his love for you before with the journalists, the Court, literally everyone but… he could admit the truth to Credence. He owed the boy that much. “I loved her more than life itself,” he whispered. “I still do. Unfortunately, I have to put the wizarding world first.” 

Credence cautiously met his gaze, encouraging Percival to continue: “You know she loved you too. I think she would have taken on the whole world for you.”

Credence’s lips twitched in a smile, though Percival was fully aware of the tears gathering in the young man’s eyes. “She was the first person to really care….” He rubbed at his eyes before changing the subject. “Are you really my uncle?”

Percival paused, surprise evident on his face as he gaped wordlessly. “The doctor — Healer Alvarez — told me last night,” Credence explained, his gaze drifting downwards. “She said you were, are, my mother’s brother.”

Percival watched, picking up on the subtle signs. Credence’s iron grip on the textbook in his lap. The twitching muscle of his jaw. The quick, shallow breaths of someone trying to contain themselves. A quick gesture and the side table turned into a simple wooden folding chair that Percival sat in. Close but not too close to feel imposing to the young man. “I am. Your mother is my older sister, Eleanor.” 

Credence’s gaze jumped to meet his. The hope and joy that danced on his face made Percival ill. “Is-is she still alive?” Credence whispered, his voice betraying his hope. “Does she know that I’m… here?”

Percival struggled with his words. Merlin, he wanted to lie and tell him that Eleanor loved him, that she had been heartbroken about having to give him up all those years ago. That she was so excited to have her son back and there was a valid reason for her not to be here right now. 

But there wasn’t, and it made him hate her even more. “She’s alive,” he acknowledged after a moment. He might as well tell the boy now instead of later. Or worse, having to discover the truth about his mother for himself. “I’ll be honest, Eleanor isn’t the most… caring person in the world.”

That alone broke the hope in Credence’s eyes, and he could almost see the boy wilting at the revelation. “I don’t know why she did what she did,” he continued softly. He had to know. He wasn’t going to try to hide the fact Eleanor wasn’t any better than Mary Lou in some respects. “She was young and foolish. And what she did to you was inexcusable, and I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything sooner.” Granted, he had been just barely out of Ilvermorny by the time Credence was born. 

“She-she really doesn’t care about me,” Credence whispered hoarsely, his shoulders shaking as he pulled his knees to his chest. “Mary Lou was right. No one cares about me.”

Percival was at a loss; this was way out of his area of expertise. He barely knew how to reassure his Aurors, but someone like Credence? He was completely unprepared. Still, he had to do something. He laid a hand on his shoulder, trying to be comforting. “That’s not true. I’m here for you, Credence. And as soon as your grandmother returns from abroad, I’m sure she will be happy to see you. Even if Eleanor doesn’t care, we do.” 

Credence looked up, tears in his eyes and a pessimistic expression on his face. This was a man who knew weak palliatives when he heard it. Percival wasn’t about to blame him either. He _would_ try to be there for his nephew, and he was fairly confident in his mother’s actions as well. But...that didn’t compare to a mother’s love. 

Queenie paused at the door rather uncertainly as she surveyed the awkward scene. “Director Graves, I see you beat me here.”

Percival was throwing _‘thank you’_ to every deity he could of think of, and those he didn’t know for good measure. He gave a pleading look to her in the form of a strained smile. “Queenie, nice to see you. Taking another day from work?” 

She gave an understanding smile as she stepped inside, shrugging off her coat. “I figured Credence needed someone more than Mr. Abernathy needed another secretary,” she explained while offering a smile to the young man. “How are you feeling today anyways?”

Credence looked nervous, quickly bowing his head as he mumbled: “I-I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Good! I’m glad to hear that, honey.” The warmth in her voice caused him to look up. There was a wide, welcoming smile on her face that helped him feel at ease. 

“He’s been practising wandless magic,” Percival commented lightly, though Queenie was quick to pick up in the subtext. Wandless magic was difficult to manage, usually taught in the last year of Ilvermorny to prepare its students for life amongst no-majs. 

Queenie tilted her head, her smile only changing slightly. “Is that so?”

At the silent prompt, Credence focused his attention on the glass of water. It slowly raised off the table with Credence barely whispering _alohomora._ Queenie gave a little clap in excitement as the glass hovered for a few moments with barely a quiver. 

“Well, I suppose we should expedite getting a wand,” Alvarez commented dryly from behind Queenie. The glass fell and shattered as Credence’s attention was broken just by the mere mention of ‘wand’. Even though his mind quickly corrected itself, there was still that flash of terrified paranoia. _Wands were evil. The tools of the devil. Mary Lou would punish anyone who even toyed with anything that looks similar in nature._

“Honey, she’s not going to hurt you anymore.” Queenie corrected, quickly crossing the distance to him. Credence jerked in surprise and confusion as she knelt down, taking his hand in hers, with far too much understanding in her blue eyes. “It’s okay. You’re safe.” 

 

“I made an inquiry to the Wand Shop yesterday,” Alvarez continued after a moment, talking more to Percival than her patient, “asking if we would need an appointment. After all, you know how busy those four can get. However, since its the middle of the year they said no appointment needed. So whenever one of you would be able to accompany him to the Mall, or I could assign someone if…” 

“I’ll do it,” Percival and Queenie spoke at the same time, to the amusement of Alvarez and surprise of Credence.

***

They fought over him.

The thought was ludicrous to Credence, but he had seen it with his own eyes, heard it with his own ears. Mr. Graves — his uncle, Percival. He had family here, actual family — and Queenie, who laughingly corrected him when he tried to call her Miss Goldstein. It was a polite argument, granted, but it still stood that they both wanted to be the one to take him to get his wand. 

A wand. Because he was actually a wizard. Not cursed with a demon, or born to a witch…. Well, no. He was born to a witch but not one that had ‘congress’ with the devil. It was still a hard pill to swallow, and he frequently had to remind himself this wasn’t some crazy dream. Especially when they apparated to the wizarding mall. Credence had to continue hold on to Percival’s sleeve as the world spun around him, his breakfast threatening to make an appearance on the sleek wooden floor that had suddenly appeared beneath him. 

“Apparition takes a bit to get used to. Especially side-along,” Percival reassured, holding his nephew steady with a hand on his shoulder. “Just take a moment to gain your bearings.” 

A few deep breaths later and Credence was able to stand without swaying, even though his stomach continued to complain. When he was able to look up, he was startled by the change from the gilded but sterile lobby of Mount Sinai to the busy mall. Shops lined either side of the cobblestone alley while arched glass provided protection overhead. Snow drifted lazily from the glass yet never reached the floor as holiday music played in the background from unseen speakers. 

It was like stepping into a different world for Credence to see shopping bags floating alongside people dressed in long coats — robes — while children gathered around a shop window with showcasing different types of brooms, many which were hovering of the own power. No one gave their sudden appearance a second glance and carried on their shopping. In fact, more people appeared with a soft ‘pop’ of air, or disappeared in the same manner. 

“It’s pretty neat, isn’t it?” Queenie commented, her soft eyes focused on the crowds. “It’s the same old-same old to us, but to you… it really is magical, huh?” 

“Y-yeah,” he muttered, rather embarrassed. He didn’t want to seem… weird, or draw attention. It was hard not to gape at the magic that surrounded him, though; it was so much more than he had ever dreamed of. Nothing like what Mary Lou had preached. 

“This way,” Percival gestured, leading the way through the crowds that naturally parted to make way. The older wizard walked with a proud and dignified air, but Credence was quick to notice people stopping and staring, their whispering slowly following the trio. The stares felt like sharp knives piercing Credence’s back, and the hushed whispers that followed made the darkness in him intensify, itching for release. It burned in his veins, threatening on becoming overwhelming before Queenie’s hand found his. The warmth and soft squeeze cut through Credence’s fear, and the witch offered a soft smile when he glanced towards her. “Don’t mind them, they’re nothing but gossip-mongers.” 

Credence held onto her hand tightly as they followed Percival to a rather unassuming shop squeezed between two others that were far grander. ‘The Wand Shop’ was painted on the window in gold lettering, with wands setting on black and red velvet in the soft light. The wands were nothing like the ones Credence had pictured from Mary Lou’s stories and sermons. Instead of gnarled branches of trees marking graves or those used to for lynching, the wands ranged from simple polished rods of pale wood to elegant works of art like Queenie’s.

The aroma of fresh cut wood greeted them as they entered, the music and chatter of the mall replaced with near silence when the door closed. “Just hold yer horses, I’ll be out in sec,” a thick southern accent yelled from the back room after a short moment. “I swear if it’s another one of you youngins coming in with a broke wand, I’m gonna introduce you to a damn switch and see if you can break that!” 

The threat made Credence want to turn and run, but Queenie held on to his hand. A thin wiry man pushed back the curtain separating the back room, donned a thick leather apron over a pair of overalls and white t-shirt. There was a look of confusion on his face as he regarded the trio while he wiped his hands on the apron. “Well, not quite what I was expecting. What’cha all need?” 

“A wand for my nephew,” Percival explained, and Credence flinched as the man gave him a hard disappointed look.. 

“Alright. What kind did ya have? ‘Cause I ain’t trying to repair one of Violetta’s again or that Voodoo Queen will have my head. I’m sticking to mine and mine alone.” 

“I-I didn’t have one,” Credence answered quietly, causing the befuddled look on the thin man’s face to grow for a moment before realization dawned on him. 

“You-yer that boy everyone’s been chattering about. The Obscurus. Well, I’ll be damned.” He stepped out around the counter and held out his hand to Credence. Despite his frail appearance, his grip was strong. “The name’s Thiago, one of the best damn wand makers in America. Would say the best, but I figure Violetta, Shikoba, and Johannes would skin me if I said that. Either way, you came to the right place, alright. We’ll getcha a wand in no time flat.”

He pulled out the slender wand stuck in the apron’s pocket and with a flick the heavy curtains lining the walls were dramatically pulled back, revealing shelves that went from floor to ceiling, lined with thin unlabeled boxes. “So, we here have been in business for the last century or so. We being myself, Shikoba, Johannes, and Violetta,” Thiago explained as he pulled off his apron and hung it on a hook. “We not only supply Ilvermorny and her students with the top of the line wands, but anyone else in the good ol’ US of A. Granted some families still hold true with the ol’ tradition of a witchling or wizard makin’ their own wand when they come to age, but this is the twentieth century. With them No-majs expanding and all, it’s making finding the right materials pretty damn hard, if you know what I mean.” Credence did not, but thought it was best not to interrupt. “So we work with folk around the world to gather both cores and various components for the shell of the wand so everyone can have access to the wand that suits them best.” 

Thiago paused for a moment, scratching his thin hair with the tip of his wand. “Now, usually we work with folk who’ve already been through Ilvermorny sorting, or some similar coven ritual that helps narrow the options down… but you’re a special case, ain’t cha?”

“If it’s any help, he has bonded with a wampus,” Percival spoke, confusing Credence. 

Thiago smiled slightly, revealing a few missing teeth. “That ol’ ornery Nahuel that Johannes is so fond of? I guess that’s the same as being sorted into Wampus House. House of body and the warrior, if I remember right. I was a Thunderbird myself, always did like an adventure. Anyways it’s a start. Something strong and steady…”

With another swish, side tables lined up together, melding into a long table while boxes floated down from the shelves and settled, showing different lengths of wood of startling variety. “Alright, you find one that feels good in your hand while I go ring Johannes. He’s probably gonna be more help then myself. I know he has been meaning to ask for a few more hairs from that cat of yours anyways.” 

Queenie nudged Credence’s back as he hesitated, looking nervous as he studied the different boxes. Lengths vary from barely five inches to something longer than a ruler, thin twigs to thick branches ranging from a pale blonde color to what looked to be pure obsidian. “Just start testing them out. They don’t put the names on it because people would try to fit something they want rather than what they need.”

Credence frowned, glancing at her before stepping forward and hesitantly picking up one that reminded him of the toy wand Modesty had hid under her bed. It had been a piece of trash she had found, but she had great fun playing pretend, so he turned a blind eye and hid it from Mary Lou. 

He dropped the piece as grief suddenly reared its ugly head once more, threatening to choke him with the knot that formed in his throat. “W-what do you mean?” he asked, focusing on Queenie again, while not failing to notice Percival taking a seat nearby, looking rather tired, which made his gut twist with guilt. 

“I mean that people would probably gravitate to an oak or maybe some rare blend when their better match would be something different. Oak is a strong wood,” she continued at his confused look. “It’s usually the choice for a person with strong magic, but it also takes a powerful person to wield. If someone not strong enough tried to wield it, they would find it difficult to control.” She paused before drawing out hers, dark wood with a mother-of-pearl handle. “Black walnut and Thunderbird feather. Shikoba made it for me my first day at Ilvermorny.”

“Ilvermorny… that’s the school for w-witchcraft, right?” he asked, tripping over the word. It still seemed so taboo to say. Everything about this felt taboo, yet at the same time it seemed _right._ That he was meant for this, just as Mary Lou had said so many times. He was the devil’s brood, the bastard son of a witch.

He wondered if she knew at the time that her words were literal.

“The best one,” Queenie nodded cheerfully. “And the most popular. But there are smaller schools, or covens as we call them, that teach their own brands of magic. Ilvermorny is usually children from old wizarding families, people living in the eastern seaboard, and changelings. Kids born to no-maj parents,” she clarified. “It’s a better nickname than what other places use.” 

Credence glanced at Percival again, meeting his eyes for a split second before returning his gaze back to the boxes of wood, his fingers ghosting along the different wands. If he hadn’t been abandoned on the Barebones doorstep, would he have attended Ilvermorny? What would it have been like, growing up somewhere where he didn’t have to suppress the darkness within him? 

Not darkness. Magic. 

He forced himself to relax, letting that mental door blocking his magic to open. He was so used to using all he had to keep it suppressed, it felt foreign to allow to flow. It was almost overwhelming as it rushed through his veins, though it wasn’t the torrent it was before when it broke free.

His hand moved of its own, his palm itching until he picked up a light-colored, nondescript wand. Nothing had fit so right into his hand, feeling as if it made for him. He could see bits of darkness, the Obscurus, dance around the wand, seemingly approving of it as well as the shadows returned to him. 

“I think you're the first who was chosen by an Elderberry wand, and not the other way around.” Johannes limped out of the back room leaning heavily on his cane. He had a friendly, grandfatherly look with a impish smile. “Many try to choose it, and quickly find it is quite impossible to wield unless it deems the wielder worthy.”

“Uh, is-is it bad?” Credence spoke softly as Johannes flicked his cane slightly, the tables separating and the boxes returning to the compartments in the walls. 

“Who am I to say if it is good or bad; I can only tell you it means you have great power within. Which considering the rumors that were leaked, that is not surprising.” He smiled before looking towards Percival. “What have you done with Nahuel? I've barely seen him in the last few months.”

“He's been… busy,” Percival answered after a moment. “He was looking after Credence while we were running around with our heads cut off, unable to see what was right in front of us.”

“He’s intelligent for a cat, and social for a wampus,” Johannes agreed before turning back to Credence. “Alright. To find your suitable core, just focus your magic on your wand. It’ll do the rest, and call to the cores that will be a good fit.” 

Credence looked nervously to the pale wood in his hand, and then a glance to both Queenie and Percival. Queenie gave him an excited smile, and Percival nodded his head. His eyes focused on the wand in his hand as he relaxed and let his magic flow. Shadows wrapped around the wood where his fingers rested against the pale wood. 

He could… feel it. Akin to the darkness ( _Obscurus,_ he reminded himself.) but more… benign, something not trying to overpower him but a force ready to do what he asked of it. 

And when he did, it pulled the magic from his hand and into itself, a flash of light before a few strands of silver white hair appeared, along with a few pitch-black hairs. The floated before the wand until falling into Johannes open hand. The old man was silent as he studied the strands of hair. 

“Tiago’s always been a bit dense,” A soft, velvet voice spoke from the shadows. “Relying on man-made conventions rather than sensing the magic itself.” 

A woman stepped up beside Johann, half-moon glasses perched on her face, her hair wrapped by a turban and gold hanging from her neck and ears. She picked the hairs from his hand and smiled slightly. “Hair of unicorn and Rougarou, and an Elder wand. My my, you certainly will be an interesting wizard.”

She looked up to Johannes, “I’ll carve his wand. No one handles Rougarou better than me. And fusing it with its opposite… well, that is going to be quite the challenge.” She held out her hand to Credence. “Trust your Aunt Violetta with your wand, young one. A Beauvais wand will never fail you.”

He hesitantly let the wood fall from his grip, already missing the comfort and security it had brought him. Her ringed hand curled around it before she gave a toothy smile and patted him on the arm. “Give me a day and it’ll be ready.”

***

“Back again Mr. Cat?” You smiled as you opened the front door of the shop to allow the large tawny cat inside. He purred as he brushed against your leg before sauntering in as if he owned the place. You flipped the sign to open before returning to the counter, where your cup of hot coffee waited next to the large decorative pillow Modesty had declared was Mr. Cat’s bed.

It hadn’t been even a week since that first day he followed you home. Even that first day, he acted as if he had always been there, and you had the oddest sense that he belonged in the store; watching with his piercing gold eyes as people came and went, occasionally purring at children and a few others while blatantly ignoring others. You couldn’t help but wonder where he came from. You still couldn’t recall who the initials P.G. belonged to, though each time you saw the engraving it made your stomach twist and heart ache. 

Even if he technically belonged to someone else, you knew he belonged in the store. In your life. He brought a sort of comfort, seeking you out when that odd melancholy threatened to overcome you as you grieved for some unknown thing. He would crawl up in your lap as you sat in the back room, trying to suppress the dark feeling in your chest, his purr resonating through you as you stroked his soft coat. 

\--

You were with a customer when the bell above the door jingled, and the sound went through one ear and out the other. After all, the bell would chime over a hundred times a day. It wasn’t until you noticed Mr. Cat sitting up on his cushion, his eyes trained towards the door that you actually took note. You looked up at the newcomer as you handed the change to the lady in front of you, and felt your heart skip a beat. 

You knew him. You swore you did, from the black hair with a brush of silver along his temples, the sharp black three-piece suit and flowing black coat, and the piercing dark eyes that met yours from across the room. You wanted to smile; to grin and run across the store and wrap your arms around him and never let go. 

But your feet stayed frozen to the ground and your tongue glued to the roof of your mouth. You could only watch as he walked towards you slow and steady, his eyes never leaving yours. Good Lord, you knew those eyes, dark brown with flecks of black and grey. You knew him. You _knew_ him, and were just as elated as you were confused at seeing him.

You were only snapped out of your trance when Mr. Cat chirped, suddenly jumping up in your arms. Blood rushed to your cheeks as you finally looked away and down to the purring cat in your arms, overcome by embarrassment. “S-Sorry,” you stuttered, a hand reaching up to scratch Mr. Cat as he rubbed against your face. If it wasn’t for the situation, you would be even more confused by his behavior. As it was, you were too lost in your thoughts to really care. “I-I thought you were someone I knew. What can I do for you?”

There was a moment of silence. You glanced up nervously, meeting his eyes again, only for your chest to ache. There was such… sadness in them. Familiarity hit you again as you studied every detail of his face, the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the five-o’clock stubble ghosting along his strong jawline. His hair was slightly tousled, which something in the back of your mind that wasn’t usual, but you quickly silence that thought with newfound logic. 

You had never met this man before in your life. 

…

Right?

“I… actually came for him,” he finally spoke, his voice warm and familiar as it broke the silence. 

“Oh! So, you must be the mysterious P.G.” you answered, trying to shrug the cat down, but his claws stuck to your shirt as he refused to budge. “I’ve been wondering who would own such an exotic cat. He’s very beautiful, if a bit odd.”

A trace of a smile graced his lips. “I’m sorry for any trouble Nahuel has caused.”

Another wave of deja vu hit you, leaving you dazed for a small moment. Haven't you done this before? But no, that was impossible. Surely you would have remembered it. Remembered him. Maybe all those late nights were finally catching up to you. “Not at all. He’s been good for business, and Modesty, my daughter, loves him. He’s been very kind to her.”

You still couldn't get over how familiar he was, especially as his smile became a little less strained. More of a quirk of his lips that gave life to the butterflies in your stomach. “I’m relieved to hear that. He can be quite the pain.”

Nahuel complained at that, making you laugh lightly. And the smile that grew on his face melted your core. He was so handsome. So familiar. You loved that smile.

You could almost say you loved him. But love at first sight was for fairy tales, not for a modern woman such as yourself. 

He caught himself, the smile quickly fading as he looked towards the cat. “Come, Nahuel. We have things to do.”

It… wasn't even that odd to you that he spoke like that. Or that Nahuel seemed to understand as he jumped to the counter, protesting with a yowl. The man just gave him a stern look before returning his focus to you, offering a hand. When you accepted it, you weren't expecting the soft lingering kiss placed on your knuckles, his dark eyes not leaving yours for a moment. “Thank you again,” he said softly, whispering your name reverently. You were too stunned to say or even think straight as he left, Nahuel trotting beside him.

Once the door closed, you were left with the nagging enigma.

How did he know your name?

***

He was an idiot. An absolute imbecile.

 _Why?_ Why did he do that? As soon as he figured out where Nahuel was, he should have turned around and went the other way. Nahuel would return home on his own time. He shouldn’t have entered the store. He shouldn’t have let you see him. And by _Merlin,_ he shouldn’t have talked with you. That was the absolute worst thing he could have done. It was too much like those early days when Nahuel would lead you home. The faint blush on your face, the smile teasing at your lips, the way your eyes lit up and he almost deluded himself into believing you remembered. That you remembered him, Nahuel, Credence, _everything._

And Merlin, when you laughed it took all he had not to lean across the counter and capture your lips in a kiss. 

He missed you so much. 

He had to push those thoughts aside as he apperated into Mt. Sinai. As soon as the marble floor solidified beneath his feet, Nahuel jumped from his arms and sprinted down the hall, mindless of the commotion he caused behind him. Percival followed at a more leisurely pace, trying to calm his heart and nerves. As much as it killed him seeing you, he knew Credence would fare worse if he knew exactly where Nahuel had been hiding. He hated the idea of keeping anything from Credence, but he didn’t want to cause him any more pain.

Alvarez was waiting for him near Credence’s room, not even trying to bother to pretend as if she wasn’t. “Unicorn and Rougarou hair in wood that Death itself is fond of,” she commented as soon as he was near, her eyes hard as the stony expression on her face. 

Some days he liked the fact she didn’t bother to beat around the bush. Other days he wished she had a little more tact. “Do you have a problem?” he challenged, standing a little bit taller though he already towered over the small hispanic woman, earning a faint smile from her. 

“No, just commenting,” she answered, glancing towards the door as soft laughter echoed into the hall — no doubt from Nahuel’s attempts to cheer Credence. “Rougarou are very interesting creatures. Head of wolf, body of man. Descended from a werewolf and a regular wolf in what some call an unholy union. I didn’t fathom that Unicorn hair would ever bond with its polar opposite.” There was a pause as she looked back to him, her smile gone. “Honestly, the idea that anyone would resonate with such a dangerous combination terrifies me.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Surely you realize that young man in there is possibly the strongest wizard in North America. He’s soft, meek, and I can see the innocence and pacifism in his eyes. But he has no training. When he uses his magic it’s all-or-nothing. Imagine him getting upset enough, and instead of suppressing his magic, he lets it all go.”

He didn’t have to imagine. He had seen the destruction for himself. Those nights that left parts of New York in ruins, yet not a single casualty. And that was Credence holding back. The young man was already playing with wandless magic. What would he achieve now that he had a wand? One created for powerful magic? 

What if his nephew rejected wizarding kind? What if Credence held them responsible for all the suffering he endured? 

A startled yelp broke the dark thoughts. Percival’s wand was in his hand as he rounded the corner to the doorway, expecting the worse. 

Except the yelp was followed by laughter as Nahuel continued to rub on Credence, his purr more like thunder in his large form as he all but knocked him down on the small hospital bed. Percival relaxed at the sight, letting his wand return to his coat pocket. “Nahuel, behave yourself.”

The half-wampus paused, giving him a look before settling in his smaller form and curling up on Credence’s lap with a happy flick of his tail. His mission was successful; there was a smile tugging at Credence’s lips as he adjusted to the sudden change. “I’m glad to see you too,” he whispered, running his hands along his tawny coat. “I’ve missed you.”

“He’s been missing you too,” Percival started. “He’s waited rather impatiently for you to wake up. I doubt he’ll leave your side now.” 

The ghost of a smile on his lips died after a moment. “...she said he was your cat.”

There was no need for clarification, not when it already caused his heart to twist painfully. “More like a friend. Being half wampus, Nahuel isn’t exactly a pet.”

“Considering there is a strict no-animal policy at Mount Sinai,” Alvarez interrupted the awkward silence that followed. “I think we should discuss plans for Credecee’s impending discharge. Such as to where the young Mr. Graves will be living.” 

It took both Credence and Percival a moment to reconcile the surname, making Alvarez frown. “Or do you prefer Barebones? I do have to warn you, however. That name has quite a stigma attached to it”

“N-no,” Credence stated quickly. “G-Graves is okay. _If_ it’s okay…?” he asked, looking towards Percival. 

“It’s your birthright,” he answered. “I would be honored if you would accept it, but it’s your choice.” 

For a moment, Credence wanted to say no. He wanted to claim your surname as his. To carry around that piece of you as a reminder to never forget. Not that he ever could forget all that you done for him. But he feared that would be too strange, so he nodded his head. “Graves. Credence Graves.” 

“And he’ll be staying with me until he’s able to get his feet beneath him.” Percival added, receiving a shy nod from the younger man. “I’ll talk with Miller about adding a second bedroom to my apartment this evening.” 

“Good. As soon as he has his wand, I’ll be happy to discharge him.”


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad Summary: Deja Vu is a main theme in this chapter. And this story.

“I had a weird dream last night,” Modesty blurted in between bites of her eggs. “I dreamt I had a brother.”

“Oh yeah?” you sipped at your coffee, trying hard not to think of your dream last night that left you feeling drained. Another nightmare of someone crying for help while darkness surrounded you, broken only by flashes of light. You swore you could still feel phantoms of the agonizing pain that had haunted your sleep. “What was he like?”

“He was really nice, and really shy. But he looked after me. We were still living with Mary Lou and everything. But there was something about him…” 

She grew quiet, staring at her plate as she pushed her food around. Which was unusual for her; usually she talked as if to make up for how silent she had to be around Mary Lou. “Like what?” you prompted gently as the silence lingered. 

“He had… magic,” she whispered with fear in her eyes as she glanced up at you. Your mind was still foggy enough it took you a moment to realize why. A whisper of magic and Mary Lou would have rained down the wrath from heaven. 

So you made a point to smile widely. “Oh really? What kind of magic did he do? Turn vegetables into candy?”

“No,” she answered, the fear dissipating with a faint smile. “He protected me. Him and Nahuel. They chased Mary Lou away.”

You laughed for a moment, imagining the witch hunter running from the tall lanky boy that held darkness in his shadows and a tawny mountain lion running beside… 

The startling thought caused you to drop the steaming hot coffee into your lap. “Momma?” Modesty asked when you jumped to your feet with a swear, both trying to blot the coffee from your skirt and trying to air the burning skin on your thighs. 

“I-I’m okay kiddo,” you answered, though you wondered if you really were with all these odd thoughts in your head. Modesty’s dream boy should be nothing but an idea to you, but even so, a face stood out in your mind; pale with pitch black hair, sharp features and soft doe-eyes. And the mountain lion….

“N-Nahuel?” you stammered instead, trying to push all those thoughts and the feelings they caused out of your mind. It was absurd the mental image that had created, and downright bizarre that it almost felt less like a fanciful daydream and more like a memory. 

“Yeah, the kitty that keeps visiting,” Modesty answered simply. “Mr. Cat. Isn't Nahuel his real name?”

The mysterious man last night had called him that last night, you realized. But you hadn’t said a word about your meeting with him to her, or anyone for that matter. “Yeah. I-I just didn’t realize you knew it.” 

Modesty went back to her eggs, seemingly accepting the answer and not noticing how shaken you were by it. “It’s weird; it’s like I forgot his name all this time and then this morning I could suddenly remember it.” 

Weird was an understatement, but you kept that thought to yourself as conversations drifted off onto a different topic as Modesty finished her breakfast. Your own appetite had been forgotten, your stomach still in knots as you walked her to school. For once you didn’t have to pretend to ignore the sneers and dark looks the other mothers shot you. Even though it was plain to see Modesty was adopted, and her backstory anything but a secret, many still disapproved of the notion of a single-mother happily raising a child without any kind of a man in the picture. 

The walk home allowed your mind to drift back to the conundrum without any sort of distraction. The boy you remembered so clearly but never met. The man you’d just met but felt as if you knew him. Nahuel, that strange cat that seemed to be far smarter than any cat should be and you swore had some sort of secret your couldn’t quite remember. 

You paused, seeing the familiar tawny color sitting at the street corner just like the first time you met him. He was mindless of the people passing by, and instead his attention seemed to focus on you. You slowly continued towards the street corner, the cat waiting patiently until you were only a foot away before standing and rubbing against your pant leg. You knelt down, rubbing his ears. His golden eyes were piercing as he stared up at you as if he could see right through you. 

Something teased at the back of your mind, and you caught sight of the gold band on your hand. The ring. You loved that ring with its simple but elegant design. And refused to wear it on any other finger than your ring finger, even as it caught looks and drew suspicion and rumors. 

Who...who had given you the ring? Someone you loved did, of course. Someone who _loved_ you. You could remember it so clearly as he slipped it over your knuckle in a solemn gesture. You could remember how you felt; so sad and yet so full of love. Knowing in that moment something had changed. 

But you just couldn’t remember who he was. Not his face, not his name, absolutely nothing. Or whatever happened to him. Why did he leave you? 

“This is what going insane feels like,” you swore as tears started trekking down your face, grief ripping into your heart for something you lost. But you hadn’t _lost_ anything. 

At least, nothing you could remember.

***

Percival frowned, feeling the weight of his ring change. The grey stone had turned into a deep blue, making his stomach turn. It was reassuring to know that you kept the ring, that he had at least a general idea how you were faring. But at the same time it was a constant reminder that you were not finding the ‘happily ever after’ that he felt you deserved. Instead you seemed to cycle between being confused, anxious, and depressed.

His visit last night proved that you were somehow was fighting against the obliviate curse. Merlin, he had known you were stubborn but he hadn’t imagined you were that obstinate. As much as it hurt, he wished you would allow yourself to forget. To move on and find happiness. 

“This whole thing is mine?” Credence’s words broke Percival out of his thoughts. The young man looked absolutely dumbfounded as he scanned the simple sitting room that had been left rather bare on purpose so he could decorate it as he saw fit. Queenie had quickly agreed to help, having a knack for such things. Percival had talked with the manager of the apartment complex and they had eventually settled on creating a set of rooms for his nephew instead of just one. In all actuality, it was more like a seperate apartment joined to his by a door. It had taken a good bit of magic from both wizards, but the look on Credence’s face proved that it was well worth both the effort and the added expense. 

“For as long as you like,” Percival confirmed, smiling faintly. He knew you would be happy if you were able to be here. Hell, you would have been downright ecstatic when Credence had accepted the plain pale wand from Madam Beauvais, officially taking the mantle of wizard. And he could easily imagine the grin on your face when the younger wizard accepted his heritage and started to sign paperwork as a Graves. 

And it was those thoughts made his smile forced rather genuine. 

“I-I don’t know how to repay you,” Credence stammered, still unable to tear his eyes away from the space. It was nearly as large as the apartment above the corner store. 

“You don’t need to repay me,” Percival assured him for the dozenth time. It seemed preposterous to him that Credence would even think that. Didn’t he understand that everything the younger wizard endured was because of what they did? Percival doubted anything he could do would even start to cover what they owed Credence. “It’s your due.” 

Church bells chimed in the distance, announcing the hour. “I have a meeting I need to attend to, but Queenie said she’ll be around shortly. Do you feel comfortable staying by yourself?” 

Credence nodded his head absently, still struggling with the realization of how much his life had changed. “Y-yeah, I’ll be fine,” he answered after a long moment. “Thank you, Mr. Graves. Or, um…”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with is fine,” Percival assured, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I’ll return shortly.”

***

This time no one gave him a second glance as he walked through the reception hall of MACUSA. Red was quiet as he sent the elevator down to the Magical Security Department. It had never been a very busy floor, with most Aurors preferring to be out on the field than milling about. But it still was quieter than he was accustomed too; virtually devoid of life as he walked towards his old office.

The hastily written note hadn’t left a name; the pre-typed ‘Director of Magical Security’ had been the only signature, if you could call it that. It gave him an uneasy feeling not knowing who to expect. He had been mulling over the possible candidates Picquery may have considered. Granted, most of the New york division of MACUSA had been compromised, but there were plenty of senior agents from different districts that would make good interim Directors.

So when Percival Graves pushed open the heavy door with an equally heavy heart, he was surprised to see Tina Goldstein sitting in his old chair, grumbling to herself as memo-mice swarmed the desk. Her short bobbed hair was astrew, leaving the marked impression of her ruffling it in frustration more than once. “Tina?”

Tina looked up from the stack of papers, the dark look in eyes quickly disappearing as her shoulders slumped in relief. “Oh, thank Merlin. Queenie said you were busy with Credence so I wasn’t sure if you would show up or not.”

“You’re the new Director?” Percival hazard as he stepped inside, almost expecting someone else to step out of the shadows. After the incident with the Second Salemers and her being transferred to Wand Registry, she had been the last person he thought Picquery would pick. The last person he thought would be eligible, considering she had been re-assigned. 

“Unfortunately,” Tina sighed. “Believe me, I’m as surprised as you. But with the infiltration of Grindelwald’s followers, Madame President said I was the only one she was sure about.” There was a lapse of silence as he took the seat across from her. Tina was a good Auror, with dogged determination and good instincts. However, she was also rather young and inexperienced. He doubted that she had been an Auror for more than five years. 

She acknowledged it as she spoke quietly: “I need your help, Direct-- _Mr._ Graves,” she corrected herself after a pause. “I can’t do this. Not by myself. And honestly, I don’t know who to trust either. Everyone's accusing each other of being an imposter. The offices nationwide are all in an uproar, upset that I got the position instead of one of them. They’re convinced everyone here in New York can’t be trusted. And then we have Grindelwald’s followers making a martyr out of that bastard after Picquery executed him. It’s--it’s a mess, sir. A huge, ugly mess. And I know you’re busy with Credence, and that poor boy has been through enough. But I really need your help as my second in command since Piquery won’t let me step down.”

“Of course,” he answered without hesitation. Merlin, his life had been his job. Or rather, his job had been his life. The last few weeks had been maddening without the familiar distraction. And while he loved Credence to death, everytime he looked at the young man guilt consumed him. Partly for what the younger wizard had endured, and part because of you. He missed you so much it tore him to shreds, and Credence was a glaring reminder that you were lost to him. 

Having the chance to lose himself in his work was like a godsend. 

“Oh, thank Melin,” Tina wheezed with relief. “Thank you so, so much, sir.”

“You’re the director now, Tina. If anything, I should be calling you ma’am,” he teased slightly, earning a dark glare from the witch. 

“Don’t you dare.” 

“Whatever you say, Director Goldstein.” Percival grinned as her looked darkend before a small smile spread across her own face. Both of them started to chuckle, which only grew louder. 

“It’s like everything has been turned upside down!” Tina laughed. “I was put on probation and now I’m at the top, and you were the best and put everything on the line and got demoted.”

“At least we’re still here,” Percival pointed out. “We can make this work, and make sure Grindelwald doesn’t win in the end.” 

Tina nodded her head, slowly sombering. “Right. So, first order of business: figuring who we can trust, and who are traitors.”

***

Queenie surveyed the finished suite of rooms, taking pride in her and Credence’s work. It had taken most of the day but by dusk they had finished. It had been a crash course in transfiguration, but to her delight Credence proved to be a quick study. The rooms were nothing grand or luxurious, but rather homely. They were more geared to be warm and cozy, reminiscent of a den.

“I think we did good today,” Queenie said as she curled up into the overstuffed couch that nearly enveloped her. “ _You_ did good,” she amended, giving the tired wizard a soft smile. He looked exhausted, lounging the chair across from her. 

“I set the table on fire,” Credence grumbled, looking at the coffee table between them that still bore a scorch mark from his attempt at enlarging a vase Queenie had shrunk for practice. 

“You’re brand new at this,” she reminded him lightly. “Honey, if one little fire is all that happens, you’re gonna be better than the rest of us. I remembered my first mistake: Mr. Burnett’s charm class my first year. Instead of levitating the feather, I made it disappear. Not just invisible, but completely disappear. We still don’t know what happened to it.” 

There was a pause of silence before Credence quietly asked: “What’s it like? Ilvermorny?” 

Queenie took a moment to study him. Just like that time she met him on the street to assure him that you were okay, she couldn’t see inside his mind clearly. Even with him exhausted, which is when most people were the easiest to read, there was a veil shrouding his mind, letting her only catch glimpses and snippets of thoughts. Maybe it was the Obscurus, or maybe he was just a natural at Occlumency. Either way, it bothered her more than she liked. 

“I loved it,” she finally answered. “There were hundreds of students from all around the country with all these different ideas and cultures all meshed together. There are four houses, you know: Pukwudgie, Wampus, Thunderbird, and the Horned Serpent. I was a Pukwudgie, and Tina was sorted into Thunderbird. So things got a little heated during competitions and things, but otherwise everyone tended to get along. We’d sneak into each other’s dormitories at night to study and gossip about boys…” 

The shroud continued to protect his mind, but the longer she talked the more Credence relaxed. She caught glimpses as he imagined her stories with a bit of envy tingeing his thoughts. He was excited to be shown parts of a world he never thought possible, but it was all darkened by sadness. Even with the distractions his thoughts would wander to the life he had been forced to leave behind. Mary Lou. Modesty. You. McNally. He fought against the feelings that were dragging him down, pointedly asking questions when his mind wandered, but….

“Honey, it’s okay to grieve,” Queenie spoke out when she caught him mentally struggling. “You lost everything. I’m-I’m having a hard time myself, you know? And I only knew Jacob for a few days.” Of course, she didn’t dare mention about her encounter with Jacob earlier, or her plans to see him again. 

Her words hit hard enough as his eyes widened, and she worried as his edges became… fuzzy. The Obscurus was trying to take control in response to the spike in emotion and answering magic. But as soon as the darkness appeared, it disappeared with a faint twitch. Credence didn’t answer, but bit his lip and clenched his eyes shut, trying to hold everything in. Emotions. The Obscurus. Even the magic that sizzled on his frayed and tender nerves he tried to keep trap inside himself. And trying futilely to shut the thoughts out. 

Because he would give up everything just to go home to the tiny apartment where his head brushed the ceiling and he had to duck through the doorways. He wanted his sister that would come to him after a nightmare, looking to him to protect him from the monsters that lurked in the darkness. He wanted you to fuss over him as if you were his mother, either clicking your tongue as you tried to fix the horrid haircut Mary Lou had given him, or just a warm touch whenever you passed him. 

He had finally found a family he wanted. He had you and Modesty, and even McNally. He had found a place to belong, even if you weren’t related by blood. He… he no longer wanted his mother who abandoned him. Mr. Graves was nice, Queenie was kind, but they weren’t _you._ They weren’t his family, just kind strangers. 

Despite his best efforts, tears started to fall. He felt Queenie sit on the armrest of the chair, her arm wrapped around his shoulders as she murmured softly. Just like you did when you knew he was close to breaking. And that did break his tight grip on his heart. 

He wanted to go home.

***

It was late; late enough Percival knew he should have just Apperated home. But his mind was still reeling from his meeting with Tina that had worn well into the evening, shifting from strategies to winnow out any lingering spies to reassuring not only the remaining Aurors but the critics throughout the nation that they _were_ the right people for the job. It ended with giving the poor witch a crash course on how to be the Director for one of the largest departments of MACUSA.

Besides, despite the fact it was snowing it wasn’t a bad evening for a walk. No-maj’s electric lights colored the streets, illuminating the snow with different colors and delighting the children that trailed their parents. 

He had always enjoyed blending into the crowds; just becoming one of the hundreds of thousands in New York. In the past he would often check on Credence, his heart aching as he watched the boy grow and struggle with living as a Barebones and then later part of the Second Salemers. 

But it was also how he met you. He had been too focused watching a father with his young daughter perched on his shoulders that he hadn’t seen you until you crashed into him, groceries spilling across the sidewalk. He would have never fathomed that such an accident would have had such an impact in his life. What he wouldn’t give to be able to go back and relive those moments; savoring your flustered smile, or every time your hand brushed his as he helped you pick up the spilled produce.

He wouldn’t have let you go without asking your name. Or asking when he could see you again, Rappaport’s law be damned. He wouldn’t have waited so long to admit his feelings, or have waited so long before kissing you. 

Percival didn’t pay attention as to where he was going, allowing his feet guide him. He shouldn’t have been surprised when he turned the corner and the object of his thoughts stood mere feet away, but he was. He was frozen in his steps, watching you sweeping the snow from the sidewalk in front of the corner store, bundled in a coat and scarf but your cheeks and ears were still a bright pink. You paused, completely unaware while you blew warm air into your hands and rubbing them, eyes glancing up to the heavens.

He should have turned away. He should have went home or continued his walk somewhere else. Another list of should-haves that he would likely regret later.

***

“Wouldn't it make more sense to sweep after it quits?”

“Probably, but I just do as I'm told.” You looked up to see the handsome stranger from yesterday, dark hair peppered with flakes of snow. His warm eyes and the slight smile on his face just stole your breath away, your face becoming warm and your heart pounding. 

He reached out to dust the snow from your hair, his hand lingering on your cheek. Anyone else and that would be more than a tad creepy, but he was… Lord, he was so familiar it drove you mad. Instead you relished the warmth and leaned into the touch.

“Nahuel’s inside,” you said softly as his hand fell to his side a moment later. “I-if you were looking for him.”

He glanced inside just for a moment before shaking his head. “Not really. I was actually just taking a walk and found myself here.”

“H-have we met before?” you whispered after a moment, trying not to lose yourself in his gaze. Everything about him was so heart-achingly familiar. His name was on the tip of your tongue. “I mean before yesterday. I swear I know you from somewhere, I just can’t remember.”

His smile changed slightly, becoming more somber. Maybe even sad. “I know what you mean, but I don’t think we have.” He paused before brushing your cheek again. “Perhaps in another life?”

It was odd yet you didn't believe him. But you couldn't exactly say anything. Not when you couldn’t remember even meeting him before yesterday. Instead you offered a smile of your own as you changed the topic: “So then, what does P.G. stand for?”

He opened his mouth as if to speak before hesitating for a moment. His lips quirked into a roguish smile. “It wouldn’t be very interesting if I simply told you.” 

Your own smile grew at the subtle flirt, your stomach twisting at the huskiness of his voice. Somewhere you found the courage to be bold and take a step closer. “I see; mysterious as well as handsome. I bet you have all the ladies swooning over you.”

“You tell me.” He took your cold hand in his. Despite the lack of gloves, they were warm and dispelled the painful cold. Especially when he pressed a kiss to your knuckles while holding your gaze purposefully. You swallowed thickly, mouth suddenly becoming dry. You couldn’t remember the last time a simple gesture had lit the fire of your loins. Hell, you couldn’t remember any man making you feel like this. 

“If you treat every girl like that, I’m sure they happily throw themselves at your feet.” You would. You would do a lot of things, some rather indecent, simply for him to look at you like that. As if he knew you, as if he cared for you. 

As if he loved you. 

“I suppose it's a good thing I don’t.” His voice was barely a whisper as he stepped closer. Close enough his warm breath ghosted over you. You could lean up and meet his lips so easily, and it was hard not to do so. “In fact, it’s very rare.” His hands cupped your cheeks and your eyes fluttered close. You could feel his nose graze yours, and you tilted your chin, ready to feel his lips brush against yours.

But instead he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a long moment before he pulled away. “Have a good night,” he whispered your name, and by the time you were able to open your eyes he was halfway down the block. 

P.G. You knew him. And you weren’t going to rest until you remembered how.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ** Mature content**  
> Dreams leave you bothered, Credence travels to MACUSA's headquarters, and Percival hits the streets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If, for some reason, you don't want to read the mature content, you can skip down to the 4th paragraph above the first scene break.

You stood before a dark wooden door, the gold plated numbers swimming in your view. You had to read them. They were important. So vitally important for you to understand. To remember. Yet no matter how hard you tried to read them, you couldn't. Just as you thought you had one, it would slip through your proverbial fingers. 

“You’re going to have to be stronger than that, sweetheart,” a husky voice whispered in your ear. Warm arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against a muscular frame. You tried to look behind you, but your vision was too cloudy. Even as he pressed slow kisses to your neck, stubble scratching your skin, you saw nothing but a dark shadow. “Show me how stubborn you are.”

“I know you,” you muttered, desperately trying to place a name to his voice. It was so familiar, just hearing it warmed your heart. It was just as familiar as the slow, methodical way he kissed and sucked every inch he could reach, making you whimper slightly as you leaned into him, baring your neck more. “I know you.”

There was a warm hum that resonated from his chest as he nipped the soft flesh of your ear teasingly. “And I know you.” His hands drifted downwards slowly, travelling over the swell of your hips and thighs before tugging at your skirt to hitch it up. His warm fingers brushed your inner thigh, making you gasp with a small whine. “I know every inch of you.”

This wasn’t right, your mind argue as he cupped your groin, fingers rubbing you through the thin fabric of your underwear. You should be pushing him away, not shifting your legs to allow him better access. He chuckled against your ear as you shifted your hips. “My, you’re so needy.”

“Please,” you found yourself begging. “I - I need…”

“If you want more, I want you to say my name.” He purred as he shifted. Suddenly you were pinned you against the door. Your cheek pressed against the cold wood, your hands splayed against the grain. One hand continued to stroke against your clit while the other entwined with yours.

“I - I can't remember,” you stuttered, feeling his hard erection against your backside, making you ache. You shouldn’t know what it felt like, how hard and thick it felt nestled between your legs, but you did. And you needed it. Needed him.

“Focus,” he replied, his voice thick with lust. “You’ve screamed it for me. Used it to beg me to fuck you.”

His words were emphasised as his finger slipped past your underwear and inside your folds. “Merlin, you’re so wet for me,” he swore as you gasped. “Always wet and so tight for me.” Two of his fingers stretched your cunt, both filling you yet you wanted more. Needed more. Every slow and deep stroke was emphasised with him grinding against you from behind. “Say my name sweetheart. Just say my name and I’ll fuck you any way you want.”

“I - I can't remember!” you panted, clutching at the door. “Please, please, just tell me.”

“I can't do that. You have to remember on your own.” You cried out as hit thumb rubbed your clit and his fingers twisted deeper. “Who gave you the ring?”

You glanced at the ring through half lidded eyes. The gem was dark pink, but you were focused on the mans ring on his hand. Something tickled your mind, even as he thrust harder into you. 

The ring. The ring. You moaned as he continued his assault. He was so hard against your rear, making you more aroused. You wanted him. You needed him. Pleas fell from your mouth as the tension built. Each movement harder. Deeper. Faster.

“Say it for me,” he whispered again as you reached that edge. “C’mon, sweetheart. Call for me as you come.”

You woke with a gasp against your pillow, panting into the night as your orgasm rocked through you. A name was on your tongue. P.G. His initials were P.G., and you could see his face so clearly now.

The pipes rattled as you turned on the shower, not giving the icy water a chance to warm as you stepped inside. You hadn’t had a dream like that… well. You never had a dream like that. Your more… risqué dreams were usually unidentified people, and just a meaningless mess that left you rather bothered when you woke. 

But this was something quite different. Something in your heart was adamant that you knew him. You knew the feel of his lips, and how the stubble of his face felt against your skin. You could hear his husky voice murmuring in your ear as his hands gripped at your hips. You knew exactly what it sounded like as he told you how much he loved you.

He wore glasses, sometimes. And seeing him with his hair messy, sleeves rolled up and tie loosened sent shivers down your spine. All of these odd tidbits danced in your head, and you swore you were going crazy. You only just met this man! You didn’t even know his name! How could you know what it felt like to be in his arms, or the heady smokey scent that lingered around him? Or what it felt like to have his five-o’clock stubble scratch against your skin? How his eyes had that odd light in them when he studied your features, the love he felt so blatant on his face. 

Tears started to trek down your face, and you slid down into the tub, letting the warming water fall down on your head. The heaviness in your heart finally had a face, but no name. And no reasonable explanation why he meant so much to you.

***

  
_Dear Credence,_  


_You don't know us, but we’re your half sisters, Prudence and Justice (mom is horrible at names). And while we were told under no circumstance were we supposed to try and contact you (our parents should really know better than to say things like that), we wanted to let you know that while mom is a a cold hearted harpy, we are excited to find out we have an older brother. I’m Prudence, now the second oldest at fifteen years old, and Justice is the youngest at age twelve. I’m a member of the Wampus house, and Justice is a Pukwudgie._

_The newspaper says Uncle Percy has taken responsibility to help you transition. Believe us, he is one of the few likeable people in the family (Grandma is the only other, and right now she’s somewhere in South America) but we hope that we will get to actually meet soon. Right now we’re stuck in school, but in two weeks will be winter break. While our parents probably have plans to go to every snubnose party on the eastern seaboard, hopefully we can sneak away to meet you in person. If not, there is always the annual Yuletide dinner. Which may be less boring than usual._

_With love,  
Prudence and Justice Whitaker. _

Credence had read the letter several times, and he still did not know how to feel. Graves --Percival-- had mentioned he had sisters, but it still felt… unreal. His sisters were Chastity and Modesty. One who had betrayed him, and the other…. He had only known Modesty for a few years, but she was the one he felt a strong kinship to. She had been his little sister. It hadn’t been a month since she came to live with them that she started to come to him after a nightmare, or when she felt homesick, or even when she was feeling ill. Not Mary Lou, not Chastity, him. He had spent many nights reading to her. And when they both were tired of reading the same biblical stories, he started making up stories to tell her. They weren’t exactly fairytale stories of princesses and dragons. After all, if just one whisper of magic reached Mary Lou he knew his punishment would be tenfold its usual. 

Instead, his stories were of the non-magical variety. Such as stories of the wild west or other far off places. Stories of cowboys and indians, or the riches hidden in far off cities. Jungles of Africa full of curious monkeys and snarling tigers. Places where they could be happy, safe, and free. 

Credence was pulled from his thoughts at the near-frantic knock at the door. The note left for him on the table this morning was the only thing that gave him the courage to answer the door. Sure enough, it was Queenie at the door, looking perfect as usual yet at the same time a little frazzled. “I just got Mr. Graves’ note,” she explained as she caught her breath. “I was worried that he’d do this.”

“Do...what?” Credence hadn’t found anything strange at waking up to an empty apartment. Graves had said he was returning to work after all. Beside, despite everything, Credence rather liked the chance to be alone. It allowed him to sort through the spiraling chaotic mess that was his mind. He could freely experiment with his magic; both his wand and the Obscurus within him. The darkness was no longer a demon hiding in the depths of his mind, but becoming an almost-companion, fluttering just out of view but always within reach. 

Queenie, however, seemed oblivious to both his confusion and nonchalance. “Fall back into his old wokaholic habit. Both him and Tina would rather work themselves to death than deal with their respective losses.” She worried her lip, her blue eyes meeting his much darker eyes and unintentionally grazing his mind. It was shadowed, wrapped tightly in a black veil. But with a careful hesitant brush, she could at least grab the main thoughts of his mind. “I know you want some time to yourself, so how about we make a deal. You still need to come get your wand registered, so we’ll do that, leave for lunch, and we’ll go our merry ways.”

The veil wrapped tighter, become more like a solid wall that pushed her out. The warmth in his eyes had chilled, allowing her to see the anger that had lead to the creation of the Obscurus. “Don’t,” was all he said.

She swallowed, hiding the stab of fear. He may be untrained and the Obscurus weakened, but some part of her knew she would be easily overpowered. “I’m sorry hun,” she said instead, not questioning how he figured it out. After all, he was proving to have the same intuition and mental sharpness she had seen in Percival. “I’ll try my best, but it can be tricky.” 

He readily accepted her apology, and Queenie wasn't about to see if his shields were down. Instead she put on a smile and grabbed the coat hanging from the rack next to the door. “It’s nice out despite being December. How does a walk sound?”

Credence nodded his head, accepting the coat and following her out onto the streets of New York. The air was chilly, but nothing harsh. The snow from last night had been cleared of the sidewalks and brick streets, but glistened where it clung to bare branches and overhangs. Kids that had skipped school played in the piles left on corners by shovels, throwing snowballs at one another. 

In other words, it was a quaint winter day that left him feeling more than a little homesick, especially when he recognized the neighborhood with a sharp stab in his chest. The corner shop was only a few streets away. He had never paused to think, or dared to hope, that you and Modesty would be so close. 

But instead of heading towards the store, Queenie guided him the opposite direction and towards the heart of Manhattan. The buildings shifted to shops and businesses far more upscale than the neighborhood he was familiar with before they shifted again. The streets become clogged with automobiles and skyscrapers rose above the smog they left behind, leaving him feeling a little dizzy. 

Queenie stopped before the tallest of the skyscrapers, the famous Woolworth building. Mary Lou had preached several times about it: a modern tower of Babel, but this time accepted by God as man reached for His throne. A reward for eridaticating witchcraft, shortly followed a warning that if man allowed witches to walk unharmed among them, there would be dire consequences. 

“Here we are!” Queenie’s cheerful voice cut through his dark memories the tall pale building stirred. “The headquarters for MACUSA!” 

His brows furrowed as he studied the building. “This is the Woolworth building…” he hesitantly pointed out. From what he understood, the magical community was all about secrecy, and MACUSA was their central government. Wouldn’t this make exposure all but certain? 

“It sure is!” She gave a playful wink as she walked over to one of the doors that flanked the revolving door, where the doorman stood guard. Credence was wary as he followed; these kind of places and the people that gathered here had never been kind to him in the past. Granted, that was when he trailed behind Mary Lou, stooped over trying to avoid attention. But that fear and anxiety still clawed at him, and he could feel the Obscurus start to stirr from the negative energy. Not a beast scrambling to open the chink in his armor, but power ready to protect. 

“Hey, Stevie,” Queenie greeted as the doorman opened the door for her. The doorman gave a brief nod to both her and Credence as he passed. Credence gave the barest of nods as he hurried past, following Queenie up the wide stairs that led into the lobby. 

While he had never been inside the Woolworth building before, he was certain this wasn’t the same building Mary Lou preached about. Not when it stretched into the heavens, any ceiling obscured by hazy clouds. Pigeons and owls swooped about, either diving down to desks that lined the wall, or out the windows that he doubted led outside to New York. 

Like the mall, people were using magic openly. Leathery dwarves — _“Goblins,”_ Queenie whispered as they passed — mingled among the crowd, along with towering giant he had met briefly at Mount Sinai. He was equally surprised by the crowd of mixed people that paid no mind to them or each other. Dark skinned to light skin, man, woman, or ones that didn’t easily fall into a category. None of them seemed to mind one another, but nodded and greeted each other as equals. It was almost as astounding as the blatant magic that filled the air. 

“It really is wonderful, isn’t it?” Queenie mused before giving a reassuring smile as he tensed for a moment, caught off guard. “And I got that from your face, honey. Promise.” 

She led him to one of the central elevators, the iron grating allowing him to watch the lifts as they shot up and down far faster than he thought possible, making him stomach twist as they waited in line. 

“Hey Queenie, finally showing up for work?” The goblin greeted as the doors slid apart for them. “Do you even have any sick time hours left?” 

“I don’t think that’s any of your business, Red.” Queenie frowned slightly, but any quip the goblin was about to say died on his lips as Credence stepped onto the lift. The young man noticed Red’s piercing gaze, causing him to flinch slightly and pointedly keep his own eyes focused on the glossy tiles beneath his feet. 

The lever clacked as Red pulled on it, and the sudden acceleration made Credence look up, gripping the bar to hold on as the elevator plummeted into the depths of MACUSA. Red gave a grin filled with sharp teeth, and held his gaze for a few seconds before yanking the lever again. The lift jerked to a sudden stop, and the grating slid open with a snap of Red’s fingers. “Wand Registry,” he announced, his eyes still locked onto Credence. “Welcome to the real world, kid.”

The Wand Registry department was nothing like above, where everything gleamed. It reminded Credence of entering a basement; dimly lit, cramped with rows and rows of packed file cabinets and desks piled with papers. Thick tubes jutted from the ceiling, and paper mice scurried back and forth. 

“It’s not much,” Queenie acknowledged as he led him through the rows of desks, only a few had someone behind them. Yet nearly all the typewriters clacked away, breaking the overbearing silence. “But… I can’t work around a lot of people. Things start to get too noisy in here,” she tapped her head with a fake smile. “I can manage crowds for a while, but not for very long.” 

He… could actually relate to that. Probably not in the same sense, but crowds often overwhelmed him as well, making the ~~beast~~ Obscurus shift and grow. “You really can’t control it then?” he hazardly guessed after a moment.

Queenie shook her head, her curls bouncing as they reached a desk. It looked like any other desk, except it was piled with even more stacks of papers. “Bloodline curse. It skips a generation or two before popping up again. One of my ancestors got into a nasty fight with a warlock from a native tribe.” She gave a rather acerbic smile as she glanced back to him. “Funny thing is, no one remembers what it was about. Yet here I am, still suffering because of their idiotic actions.” 

She shuffled distractedly through the papers, which ruffled and rearranged themselves as she searched. Queenie scrunched her nose in annoyance before flicking her wand towards the paper. There was a whirlwind of activity as the papers folded themselves into hundreds of little mice that scurried off into the metal pipes that hung from the ceiling. The towering stacks shrunk into piles barely an inch tall, looking far more manageable. 

“There’s no way to break it?” he asked after a moment. Even with Mary Lou’s hatred of magic, he still knew about the fairy-tale endings that broke any curse. Usually true love’s kiss or some rare magical flower. 

Queenie shrugged, “As far as I know, no. Bloodline curses are usually a lot trickier than your normal hexes.” 

Conversation drifted to the topic of the copious amounts of paperwork needed for a wand license, most of which was repetitive and dull. However, some were odd to him; asking for the specific astrological signs he was born under, or the sources of his wand components.

“We can just send a memo to the shop, they keep all that on hand,” Queenie reassured as he paled slightly at the question. She sat on the edge of her desk, peering down at the clipboard sitting on Credence’s lap while a tea tray floated nearby. “With you being labeled as a squib though, I wonder if your birth records are still down in the Census archives. Hopefully Mr. Graves will have some idea.”

It was strange to think that the birthday he had (not) celebrated most of his life was quite possibly not even the day he was born. Was the year even right, or was he older? Younger? 

“Ah, Queenie,” a new voice broke through his thoughts as well as the quiet clicks of the typewriters around them. Queenie looked up from the paperwork, her smile freezing on her face as she saw Abernathy step out of the shadows. “I trust you’re feeling better?”

“Yeah, those darn headaches,” she excused before hastily changing subjects and averting her eyes down towards Credence. She never enjoyed anything she gleaned from her supervisor’s mind. He was both ambitious and devious, with an oily kind of mind that was always scheming on how to twist everything to his benefit. He was actually to cause of many of her true headaches. “Besides, Credence here needed someone to help him sort through all this paperwork.” 

Credence was slow to meet the other wizard’s gaze. While the smile on Abernathy’s face was friendly enough, there was something about his eyes that made him feel rather uncomfortable. 

“The famous Credence Barebone. Oh, sorry, it’s Graves now, isn’t it?” Abernathy held out his hand, and gave a firm handshake when Credence accepted it briefly. “I’ve read several articles about you, but I never thought I’d be able to meet you face to face.” His expression changed slightly, becoming empathetic as he laid a hand on his shoulder. “I understand the trials you have gone through to get here, and I can only imagine the pain you have endured all of your life.”

***

It had been years since Percival had been on the streets like this. Being free to chase down his own leads and leave the bureaucracy to someone else. He felt like a new man. Though he was certain Tina was cursing him thoroughly for leaving her to deal with President Picquery and the rest of MACUSA.

Theta had been his informant in the past when he did still worked the beat. A collector of sorts that often migrated around New York, collecting odd items that held value only to them. The best way to find Theta was to leave something shiny that had a trace of magic somewhere innocuous. 

In this case, a simple magical music box left beneath the brooklyn bridge. Within an hour, the diminutive figure in a battered tan cloak appeared with not even a ‘pop’, muttering to themselves. Spindly fingers grabbed at the box, smiling as the box started to play softly. “Why would someone toss you?” Theta crooned softly, stroking the gilded box. “You sound as lovely as a siren.” 

“Payment,” Percival answered as he stepped out from the shadows. Theta didn’t jump, but tilted their head slightly, wide dark eyes regarding him carefully. “I’d like to ask a few questions.” 

Theta smiled brightly, tucking the music box into their cloak. “The Graves that fell from grace. You left me.” Their smile waned into a snarl, pointing a finger. “No more trinkets. No more coffees. Just tossed me like trash.” 

“I kept you safe,” he argued. “You know your not strictly suppose to be here.” 

Theta hissed. “Lousy wizards and witches. Think you’re on top of the food chain when you’re just babes being amused.”

“Amuse me then,” he tried to redirect Theta’s rant before it truly started. The steaming mug full of coffee did the trick, dark eyes widening for a second before they acted with speed unexpected of their stature. 

“You were a smart one,” Theta sighed as they pocketed the chipped mug before holding out their hand. As soon as his hand gripped theirs, the world spun and he found himself in a small canvas tent that was filled with endless bits and bobules Theta collected. “So what do you want to know?” Theta asked as they searched for a spot for the music box among the hoard. “Black market? Criminals? Rumors and gossip?” 

“A little of all three.”

Theta pulled their hood back, revealing shimmering skin and cropped hair before tilting their head slightly. “Be more specific.” 

“What do you know about Grindelwald and his followers?”

Theta blinked their large eyes before smiling, “I know a lot about them. But a pretty music box isn’t sufficient for all of it.”

“What about the coffee?”

Theta waved their hand. “That was an apology and not part of the bargain, wizard. And I don’t make bargains of promises.” Theta waved a finger at him. “So ask your questions and I will answer what I deem fit. Or leave without answers.”

Percival frowned, though he had expected difficulty with Theta. Like many Fae, they loved bargains but also loved to twist their words and play games on unsuspecting victims. “What do you know of Grindelwald's followers infiltrating Macusa.”

Theta bared their teeth it what could almost he a smile. “You thought you destroyed him but you only made him stronger. They cry in outrage and they want blood for their savior.”

Percival mulled the words over in his mind. So they were angry, which was understandable, and he knew Picquery executing him would only turn him into a martyr. “How organized are they?” Were they looking at a angry individuals, or a organized mob ready to spread rebellion. 

“They are a web, sparse clusters becoming a tumor that sits in the heart.”

The words were ominous, and Percival felt his confidence drop a little. That was not the information he was hoping to receive. He swore softly to himself, running a hand through his hair. “Can you at least give me estimated numbers? How many followers are left in MACUSA.”

“You know I don’t answer straightforwardly like that,” Theta grinned. “There’s no fun in that.”

“Our world is at risk. Your world,” he shot back his anger building. “This is a serious emergency, Theta!”

“The wizarding world is not my world,” Theta hissed back, the dark eyes narrowing. “You will find that many magical beings agree that perhaps man’s time as king is done. We have given the child too long and now it thinks that it is supreme when it not much more than dirt!”

It wasn’t the first time he had heard the sentiment from Theta, or the others, like the goblins and house elves. “I know. But Grindelwald isn’t going to make it much better.”

Theta laughed, their smile returning. “Of course. His words are like kalmia honey and his revolution paves the way to the abyss. But since I like you, I will tell you this: they are out for blood, but fear striking those who are able to fight back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an FYI: Kalmia honey is a poisonous type of honey made from toxic flowers and can make a person sick and/or kill a person


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence writes a letter, Graves meets McNally, and you end up in a hospital.

_ Dear Justice and Prudence, _

_ Thank you for your letter, and I am sorry it has taken me so long to respond. Everything has been rather overwhelming, and I am indebted to our uncle for his help, along with my friend Queenie, for her assistance. _

_ I’m afraid I don’t have much to write, or rather that I would bore you with what I do have to say. What is new and novel to me is probably trivial matters to you. I will state that I am happy to learn I have family who is excited about my presence. And I do look forward to meeting you in the near future. _

_ I ask that you be patient and tell me more of what Ilvermorny is like. I’ve read a little about it, but I would like to know what it is like from student’s point-of-view. What are your favorite classes? I’m fascinated by the hundreds of different spells and charms, but they are probably quite mundane to you. _

_ _

Credence leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his eyes. He felt exhausted yet unable to sleep. Which was not that uncommon; insomnia had always haunted him in one way or another. Often it had triggered the beast… no, the Obscurus, to overpower him. But now that once-unruly power was quiet, no longer a raging force but a soft current in his veins, leaving Nahuel to be his only companion through the sleepless hours.

“Do you think that’s good enough?” he asked the half-wampus, and in response, Nahuel only stretched lazily on the corner of the unmade bed with a yawn. Credence sighed, scanning the short letter. He never had written a true letter before, he never had a reason to. His world consisted of the Second Salemers and no one else. He would transcribe Mary Lou’s rhetoric, help write pamphlets and flyers, but not a personal letter to send to a friend or newly-found relatives in this case.

What was he supposed to say? That everything was overwhelming, yet at the same time, it made more sense than his whole life living with Mary Lou? That he finally found an answer for those questions he had been too scared to ask. How relieved he was when he learned that darkness within in him wasn’t a demon, it was just part of him? He wasn’t possessed, or spawn of the devil. He was a wizard. And while the old him would have thought he was crazy or deranged to label himself as such, in reality, it was like a burden was lifted off his shoulders. He was exactly what Mary Lou had called him time and again. _The bastard son of a witch._

Yet nothing about his new life was like she had preached about. There was no worshipping of demons, bloody sacrifices to the devil, or other satanic rituals There were charms for mundane household chores, potions that cured everything from the common cold to influenza. Magic seemed to fulfill the wildest imagination. And for him, personally, it was just… indescribable freedom. No longer trapped in the tight bonds that Mary Lou kept him in. 

And then there was the other side of the coin that he didn’t want to share with his new sisters. Despite how much he was elated to discover magic, he wished he could give all of this up and return to the corner store. Return to a life that would be mundane for others, but absolute heaven to him. Return to his real family: you and Modesty. Everyone had drilled it into his head that he couldn’t go back, not even for a visit. It was against the law, they didn’t remember him, he had no place in the ‘no-maj’ world, etcetera etcetera etcetera.

But...surely one visit wouldn’t hurt.

***

The growing string of swears drew your attention. McNally had been trying to watch his words with Modesty around, but it seemed like that had been forgotten as he shuffled papers and slammed drawers in his office, desperately looking for something by the sounds of it. Your curiosity was piqued enough that you left the counter during a lull and poked your head into his office. “What’s going on?”

He looked up, a mix of annoyance and frustration on his face. But there was something else; a confused, disconcerted look in his eyes that you had never seen on the man before. “Whatever happened to Credence?”

The name made your heart skip a beat before pounding as fast as the thoughts blazing in your mind. Credence. _CredenceCredenceCredence._ You knew that name. Dear Lord, you knew that name and it ripped your heart to shreds. You slumped against the doorframe and distinctly heard McNally was calling your name, trying to snap you out of the daze, but to no avail. All you could hear was that name and the pounding in your chest.

Who...who was he? You felt appalled at yourself that you couldn’t remember. It was like not knowing who your mother was, or your father. Like that name was absolutely integral to you, and yet… nothing. You couldn’t picture a face. Could remember how you knew that name. Or who they were to you. But you could feel the love, and longing in your chest at the same time, knowing that you cared for them. Him? _Who was he?_

“Credence Barebone… he-- he’s my brother... is-isn’t he?” Modesty spoke softly, finally ending the chant in your head. You didn’t know where she came from, and you could only look down blankly at her light blue eyes full of emotion. She was expecting you to answer, unaware that you had hoped that she would answer your own questions.

“The one in your dreams?” you croaked out. The dreams of the boy full of magic, chasing down Mary Lou with a shapeshifting Nahuel.

The pain in your head was excruciating, matching the ache in your chest, but you held on to that image. Things were clicking together despite the forces trying to tear the pieces apart. You slumped into the chair in front of McNally’s chair and looked at the papers scattered across it. They were deeds and wills. Old pay stubs and payrolls dating back for several months. Wherever your name was, there was his.

“He went… he went somewhere,” Modesty spoke again, though she seemed unsure of her own words. “He went somewhere else to live. Didn’t he?”

McNally grumbled something as if the notion of him leaving was plausible, but he doubted it as well. “Must’ve. Maybe I’m getting senile in my old age. He just popped up in my mind last evening when I was figuring out some end of the year paperwork. And I couldn’t remember whatever happened to the boy.”

What had happened to him? Why couldn’t you remember him? Where did he move to? A part of you screamed at the idea that he would leave without a trace. He would never do that.

But you couldn’t even remember his face, how could you expect to remember what he would or wouldn’t do?

McNally eventually let the subject drop, becoming more convinced his memory was failing in his old age. Modesty lingered, putting a hand on your knee, concern in her eyes yet again.

You smiled, patting her cheek. “I’m okay,” you answered, though part of you really wondered if you were. You refused to let that name escape you. Refused to let anything distract your mind from it, even as you returned to the front desk. Your brain felt like it was burning as you chanted his name to yourself. Credence. Credence.

Tall, lanky, doe-eyed Credence. The young man from that brief mental image was standing in the doorway of the shop. His ears and nose pink from the cold and his dark eyes wide with both fear and hope, but exactly the one you had imagined before. Darkness quickly consumed your vision and you felt the ground rushing to meet you, his yell echoing through both the shop and your mind.

***

Percival was in mid-sentence when the ring on his hand burnt his skin. He gave it a flickering glance as he continued his report to both President Picquery as well as Tina on what Theta and his other informants had reported to him. It took all of his self-control to continue with barely a pause when his heart began to pound and his mind race. Of all the times for something to happen. Was this what Theta meant? But surely even Grindelwald’s follower wouldn’t attack a no-maj in the middle of the day.

Did it matter who or what it was? Your life was in danger. That’s all that mattered, and he was stuck deep in the bowels of the MACUSA headquarters. Minutes ticked, and his only reassurance was the ring was still warm against his skin and not turning cold.

“I’m sorry ladies,” he finally interrupted. “I told Credence I would be back by now.”

Tina’s eyes narrowed and he knew she could tell he wasn’t being truthful, but she stayed silent while Picquery nodded her head. “I have a meeting with Congress soon. I’ll give them an update. Thank you, Goldstein. Graves.”

He didn’t wait for either of them as etiquette demanded, but left as quickly as he dared. Tina was suspicious already, there was no point in trying to disguise his impatience. Not with the vivid reminder that you were in danger.

Less than ten minutes later, he left the alley near the corner store he had apparated to with dread rolling in his gut when he noticed the crowd gathering at the door. He shouldered past the gawkers, trying to ignore the not-so-quiet whisperings that followed.

And then he saw you passed out on the floor, beads of sweat on your skin despite the cold air from outside. And Credence on his knees beside you, white as a sheet and shaking. “Credence,” he all but growled as his steps became more confident. There was no attack. No lackey of Grindelwald’s coming for retribution. Just Credence disobeying the one rule he had given. The one thing he had told the boy he could never do.

Because you would fight against the Obliviate curse. He knew you; he had loved you for your tenacity. He could see you fighting against it the two times he had broken his own rule.

He knew that you loved him, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind about that. But he wasn’t deluded either, your maternal bond with Credence was far stronger than the bond you shared with him. You wouldn’t let yourself be swayed by the persuasive magic that tried to tell you that Credence meant nothing to you.

Credence jumped when Percival laid a heavy hand on his shoulder, somehow becoming even paler. “I--”

“Leave,” Percival interrupted. “Now.”

He honestly expected Credence to comply. Maybe reluctantly, but still follow his directions. Instead, the boy squared his shoulders, the expression on his face shifting from scared to determined. “No. I’m not leaving her. Not again.”

“Credence,” Percival started, his grip becoming tighter. Only for someone to lay a hand on his shoulder, pulling him away. He had to fight his instincts of drawing his wand when he came face to face with the growling owner of the store. McNally, if he remembered your stories right.

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are,” McNally snarled, standing a few inches taller than Percival. “But you better let go of him and get the hell out of here.”

“I know what’s wrong with her,” he tried counter instead. “I need to take--”

“The hell you are!” McNally swore, not letting Percival finish. The older man’s face was turning an unpleasant shade of red as he jabbed his finger into the wizard’s chest. “You think you can swan into my business, snap at my employee, and try to kidnap the other?! No! I have a doctor on his way, so you can find the door right there.”

“Your doctor isn’t going to know what’s wrong, you have to--”

“I don’t have to do shit, boy!”

“If you want her to come out of this without serious injury, you do! Every moment we lose by you being obtuse is another moment her mind is being damaged!”

“H-he’s right,” Credence interjected as soon as McNally opened his mouth. He flinched a little when McNally’s eyes flashed towards him, still looking like he was one second away from swinging. But he held his gaze as he stood up. “I trust him. He’ll know what to do.”

McNally’s jaw shut with a click, his nostrils flaring as he looked between Percival, Credence, and you. He hated the thought of leaving you to some stranger. But he knew Credence, though there was something different about the boy. He trusted very few, and for him to vouch for the stranger.

The door rang again, and McNally was ready to snap, assuming it was another curious pedestrian bold enough to ignore the closed sign on the door. Except it was Modesty, holding the hand of a woman barely taller than her, wearing a long white coat with an odd insignia embroidered on the breast pocket. The woman narrowed her eyes as she surveyed the room, while both Modesty and Nahuel sprinted to your side.

“Graves, what the hell have you gotten yourself into,” the woman growled as she marched towards them.

“And who exactly are you?” McNally countered as the small woman knelt down at your side. “Modesty, I told you to fetch Dr. Richards.”

The girl looked up at him, “Nahuel led me to her instead.”

McNally pinched the bridge of his nose. As if today couldn’t get any worse. “It’s a good thing she fetched me instead of one of those silly doctors.” The woman said. “There’s nothing your medicine could do about this woman’s condition.”

“Oh, and I suppose your smoke and herbs can fix her.”

Instead of being offended, she smiled grimly. “Something like that. Which one of you want to carry her?” She looked between Credence and Percival.

Credence scooped you up off the floor without a moment of hesitation despite his lanky arms.

“And just where exactly are you taking her?” McNally stepped between Credence and the door, though his eyes were on both Percival and Alvarez.

“Mount Sinai’s.” Alvarez boldly met his glare. “I’ll make sure to send a note when you can visit.”

“She’s gonna be okay though, right?” Modesty asked softly, standing close to Mcnally. Nahuel had jumped in her arms, and she held him close. It hurt Credence to see his sister with fear in her pale eyes.

“She’ll be fine, but we need to leave, now.”

***

“We are going to be in so much trouble!” Alvarez swore as soon as they appeared in Mt. Sinai’s receiving area. The small Healer led the two wizards down the hall at a quick pace. Percival had taken you from Credence; only because the young man didn’t know how to apparate yet, and side-along was difficult enough with just one extra person. “How did you train your damn cat to do that anyways?”

“Do what?” Percival asked distractedly, more concerned over how clammy you were, your face a grimace as you pressed closer to him. He wanted you in his arms again, but not like this. Not with your life on the line.

“Bring that child here!” Alvarez pushed open a door, revealing a small room with a gurney in the middle. Bottles lined the wall along with statues, herbs, and other odds and ends. She gestured to the hard surface before starting to summon items with a flick of her wand. “A no-maj! In these halls! I don’t want to know what kind of consequences we’re going to face because of this!”

“Modesty came here?” Credence spoke quietly, hovering near the door, his edges blurred like he was made of smoke. Part of Percival knew he needed to calm his nephew down, but at the same time, this wouldn’t have happened if Credence had stayed away from the corner store.

“Yes! Led by that wampus of his! Apparently, it spoke to her somehow.” She poured potions into a small cauldron, lighting a small fire before working on grounding some of the herbs. “I assume this is the same woman that you bullied my apprentice into treating a few months back.”

It was Percival’s turn to be shocked into silence, his hand pausing on your hair as he looked over to the small woman. “You knew about that?”

“Of course she told me, Joan is still an apprentice and your assessment was full of red flags. She’s not exactly stupid.”

The door opened, and the witch in question paused when faced with Percival’s odd look. But the moment was quickly broken as Alvarez snapped her fingers. “Hurry up, girl!”

“Yes ma’am!” She handed her a small vial of a glowing green liquid.

“What are you going to do to her?” Credence asked as Alvarez added a few drops from the vial to the cauldron. The smoke becoming a soft blue, filling the air with the scent of a forest during a rainstorm.

“A modified forgetting potion. It tends to be easier on the mind than an Obliviate curse, but usually it only works for short term memories. I’m hoping this Swooping evil essence Mr. Schmander left will help the rest.”

“She has to forget again?”

“Of course she does! The obliviate curse is one of the few curses that is near impossible to break. There is no counter-curse. No antidote or reversal charm. The few times it was known to be broken was because of improper casting or memories stored previously in a Pensieve.”

The smoke cleared, and the liquid the Healer drew up into a small glass dropper was a silvery blue that shifted with the light. “Hold her up. She needs to swallow this.”

Joan stepped away as Percival shifted you up supporting your back, your head rolling slightly. You looked so pale, skin glistening as you mumbled nonsense under your breath.

“Why does she have to forget?” Credence whispered, his whole body shaking as he clenched his fists. Tears were trekking down his face as he watched Alvarez drop the liquid into your mouth. He missed you so much. All he wanted was to go home to you, Modesty, and McNally.

“She’s fighting against the obliviate curse,” Joan spoke softly. “It’s rare, but it happens. Though she is the first no-maj I’m aware of. But like Healer Alvarez said, you can’t break an Obliviate curse. When a person fights against it like this...well, it damages their mind. Sometimes so severely they’ll never function properly again.”

Credence’s heart sank even more, easily piecing things together. He...he did this. He did this to you. He felt the Obscurus shift inside him, no longer calm and resting but becoming agitated. He just wanted to his family again, and instead he did this. He… he hurt you. And he didn’t know how he was going to live with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a rather short chapter. Full of angst at that. Things are going to be picking up though from here on out. 
> 
> Still plenty of angst. 
> 
> ANYWAYS if you don't follow me on Tumblr (monsters-verse) I am changing jobs at the moment, so the next few chapters may be a bit before being posted. But not a hiatus, just a hiccup.


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back from a hiatus, we find our main characters at odds with each others, and see some shadows moving behind the scenes. Because the Author can't write a simple damn plot to save her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that took longer than expected! 
> 
> Sorry everyone for such the long wait! I hope this chapter soothes over any hard feelings. 
> 
> yeah.....

It was well after midnight. 

The apartment was silent. Credence wasn’t sure if that was due to some magical charm or if Percival still hadn’t returned. The young man wasn’t inclined to check, or inclined to do anything but sit curled in his chair, staring at the flickering candle Queenie had left. The light lavender and vanilla scent was supposed to be calming, and he had to admit it helped with the anxiety and panic somewhat, but it hadn’t eased the crushing feeling in his chest in the least bit. 

Both Healers had assured him that you would be okay, that there weren’t going to be any long-lasting side effects from what had happened, other than maybe frequent headaches. But it was small comfort to him. Guilt ate at his heart alongside grief and despair. He could still see you laying on the hospital bed, virtually lifeless after the potion Alvarez had all but forced down your throat. He could still feel the coldness his newly found uncle radiated as he sat on the opposite side of Credence, avoiding his gaze as Percival held your hand to his lips. Despite Joan’s gentle bedside manner, and Queenie’s comforting presence once the witch arrived, Credence had the distinct feeling he was unwelcomed. A feeling he thought he had left behind with Mary Lou.

He couldn’t go home. You really were lost to him. You, Modesty, McNally, every good thing he had found in his life had been ripped away from him. Even Nahuel, who usually came every evening to give him company was absent tonight, leaving him completely alone.

Credence couldn’t stand it anymore. He reached out, not caring about possibly burning his fingers as he pinched the flame out. Smoke filled the darkness while his eyes adjusted. The light coming in from outside was enough as he grabbed the long black coat he had been given and opened the door that led to the bright hallway. There was more than a simple nip of cold when exited the brownstone apartment building. The light from the electric street lamps reflected off the snow banks that lined the sidewalks and streets, illuminating the fact that the streets were desolate. He purposely walked the opposite direction of the corner store, but otherwise had no destination in mind. He wandered the streets aimlessly, lost in the cycle of dark thoughts in his head. There was nowhere for him to go, and several places he couldn’t go. He belonged to a world that he didn’t want, and was barred from the world he yearned for. 

Hours passed; his nose and ears were numb from the cold but he stubbornly kept walking. He had no clue where he was anymore. The buildings that surrounded the street were in ill-repair with laundry lines stretching across the street. He felt something as he passed one of the buildings. An odd spark against his skin that made him pause. The Obscurus that had laid mostly dormant now shifted beneath his skin, woken by something. It was wary but curious. 

A moment later a handful of faint popping broke the silence. The Obscurus thrummed a warning in his mind and Credence unconsciously gripped at his wand in his coat pocket. He may not know many spells, but Percival had given him tips on defending himself if need be. 

“Stand down, he’s a friend,” a familiar voice called out as a wizard little older than him stepped out of the shadows. Abernathy gave a smile as he offered a hand. “Credence, it’s good to see you again.” 

Abernathy's hand was warm; his handshake firm without being painful. It felt welcoming when Abernathy clapped him on the shoulder. and his hand rested there as he turned as three others stepped out of the shadows. “These are my associates: Vinda Rosier, David Krall, and Maja Carrow. This, my fine ladies and gentleman, is Credence Barebone-- Graves,” Abernathy amended quickly with an apologetic glance towards him. “The poor soul I had been telling you about.” 

There was a round of hellos, Krall’s handshake a bit weaker than Abernathy, and he felt flustered by the smiles from Roiser and Carrow. No one had looked at him like that before, making him uncomfortable as he averted his gaze. “What brings you out here on a night like this?” Rosier asked with a foreign accent, her nails resting like blades on his skin as she shook his hand, just waiting for a moment to pierce his skin. 

“J-just wandering,” he mumbled, avoiding her sharp gaze. “I..didn’t really have a destination in mind.” 

“Maybe the fates themselves led you here then,” Abernathy smiled. “Come have a drink with us. Tell us what’s on your mind.” 

He was reluctant but nodded anyway. Abernathy clapped him on the back firmly, his smile widening. "Glad you can join us."

Abernathy's hand didn't leave his back as he guided Credence down the alley that ended in a brick wall. Krall simply tapped the bricks with his wand, and the bricks rolled away, revealing a dimly lit speakeasy. It felt as dingy and hostile as Mary Lou had warned him. Humans and other beings sat in the shadows, the hushed conversation quieting as they passed. Carrow led them to the back room which was better lit, allowing Credence to see different papers littering the round table, stones etched with runes along with what looked like small bones scattered about. A flick by Roiser and the papers and stones disappeared, leaving only the cups and mugs. 

"What would you like? A good draft? Whiskey? Bourbon? Or are a giggle water connoisseur?"

"I-I'll just take some water." He mumbled as Abernathy helped him to his seat. He missed the sly looks Roiser and Carrow gave each other, faint smiles on their painted lips. 

"That's right, no-majs frown on alcohol. I assure you, my boy, alcohol isn't frowned upon in our culture, not when we have so little to cherish. How about a nice warm Butterbeer? It's an English favorite that will warm your bones."

He didn't wait for an answer; a glass stein appeared before Credence, filled with the buttery-yellow drink and a good inch of foam on top. Sensing everyone watching him, Credence felt he had no choice but to take a sip. The smooth sweet drink went down easy, the warmth spreading through his body. Before he knew it he had drunk nearly a quarter of it, and abashedly wiped the foam from his lips. 

"It must be hard adjusting after growing up as a muggle; sorry, no-maj," Carrow corrected with a faint smile. "Across the pond, we call those with no magic muggles." 

Credence nodded his head, "It's been difficult." Part of him wanted to open up, tell them everything that was eating at his heart. But instead, he clutched at the warm glass, trying not to look anyone in the eyes. 

"I've had friends that took the change quite hard," Abernathy started. "And I know many at MACUSA that still struggle. I've always thought the separation of our cultures was not only inane but barbaric in a way. Every year witches and wizards are pulled from their families and thrust into a world where seclusion and secrecy are key. Across America, children and even young adults commit suicide because they can't handle the change. Honestly, I'm surprised you're the first Obscurial in the last century."

The warmth and acknowledgment of everything he felt made Credence finally meet Abernathy's dark eyes. The wizard gave him a sympathetic smile. "I always thought it was ridiculous to hide at all. Hiding like rats in the shadows. Muggles have advanced so much, and yet we are stuck in the virtual middle ages because we are scared of exposure." 

"Why?" Credence whispered the one question he hadn't found a satisfactory answer to. "Why do we hide?"

"That is a very good question," Krall finally spoke. "One that people do not ask enough."

***

“Go home, Graves.”

Percival hadn’t been aware he had dozed off until Alvarez chastened him with a soft tap on his head. The lights of the ward were dimmed, small balls of witchlight floating behind Healers and mediwitches that patrolled the rows of beds. 

You were still like a doll laying silently in the narrow bed, but no longer diaphoretic and grimacing in pain. Your hand clutched at his, refusing to let go as he shifted in the hard chair. 

“Where’s Credence?” He asked, rubbing his face with his free hand. 

“Miss Goldstein helped him home a few hours ago,” Alvarez answered gently. “Being here wasn’t doing the boy any good. It’s clear to see he was beating himself up for it.”

Percival stayed quiet, his emotions at war with each other. He felt for his nephew, he really did. He could only imagine how hard it was to adjust. To be ripped from one world and plopped into the next and forbidden to go home. 

Yet at the same time, Credence had been warned. Granted none of them expected this. Irrationally, his heart still placed the blame of your condition on the boy. He kept trying to shove the thought away, but it continued to crawl its way back. Just like the love he felt for you. He knew he should leave. Leave you in the care of Alvarez and Joan and find a distraction to keep thoughts of you from overwhelming his mind. But Merlin, he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you alone. He couldn’t even force his hand to let go of yours. 

“Go home," Alvarez repeated softly once more. "Joan and I are going to take her back before the dean and other administrators find out what we’re doing.”

“Let me.” The words escaped before he could even think, but he didn't regret them. He met Alvarez’ dark questioning eyes with steely resolve. “I know where she lives, and I can handle McNally.”

Alvarez debated for a moment, her lips twisted into a doubtful expression. “You know you’ll need to Obliviate the girl, and probably the shopkeeper as well.”

“You say that as if I haven’t done that a million times.” That earned a dry smile from the tiny Healer. Aurors were probably the ones who used the Obliviate spell the most, after all.

“Then I’ll allow you the honor if you promise me this: go home afterwards and get some decent sleep for once.” 

Percival nodded his head, carefully dodging the promise. There was no way he was going to get decent sleep after today. He didn’t allow Alvarez a chance to catch his omission before he picked you up off the narrow hospital bed instead of using a levitating charm. He wanted to hold you in his arms at least one more time. Judging by the expression on Alvarez’ face, he knew that she had noticed both things anyways. 

“Sometimes it’s better to be quick to rip the bandage off instead of being slow about it,” was all she said with that knowing look in her dark eyes. “Time will heal all wounds, even those on the soul.”

***

Percival was glad he didn’t Apparate straight into the corner store. It may have been well after midnight but the second story windows were still illuminated. He thanked Merlin you had pointed out the small doorbell at the back door of the shop before...well, before everything. It was odd to think everything with Grindelwald had been a little less than a month ago when it felt like an eternity ago.

It wasn’t long after he pressed the small brass button that he could hear heavy footsteps seconds before McNally opened the door. The older man’s dark expression went through of myriad of changes-surprise, confusion, worry-- before becoming angry. “It’s damn well past midnight! What the hell are you doing with her this time of night?” 

“Dr. Alvarez did all she could, and thought she would rest better at home,” he lied smoothly. “May I?” 

There was no doubt that if McNally wasn’t leaning so heavily on his cane he would have snatched you from Percival’s arms. However, he was depending on it as he led Percival through the back room of the store, up the narrow stairs that led to your apartment, and then finally into the small bedroom. 

The place where he had taken your memories of him, Credence, and everything. Percival was gentle to lay you down, combing back the stray hairs from your face. He forgot himself for one second, but that was all it took. By the time he stood up, pulling himself reluctantly away from you, McNally was barring the door with his thick arms crossed and a severe expression on his face. 

“I ain’t letting you leave until you answer a few of my questions,” he challenged. “Like who the hell you are for starters.”

Percival’s hand slipped into his coat pocket, the wood of his wand cool against his fingers. "Just an old friend who happened to be passing by." 

Mcnally scoffed. "Bullshit. A man who looks at a woman like that is not just a friend. Your that beau that suddenly disappeared."

His gruff words made Percival freeze. Not only had you apparently told McNally, but he remembered. Did Scamanders trick not work? Did the no-maj's remember bits of magic?

"She...told you about us?"

"Enough," the older man eluded. "Enough to make me wonder why she suddenly stopped acting like a fool in love to pretending like she isn't heartbroken."

That was a sucker punch to the gut. Even with your memories erased? Was there a part of you that did remember him? Sure you flirted with him that one time he had given into temptation, but he had thought that was just the natural chemistry that existed between you and him. 

"So what, the fact our girl here adopted a child out of the goodness of her heart scared you away?" McNally continued, his lips curled in a snarl as he glared at the younger man, "Or did the wife catch wind of your mistress?"

"What? No!" The accusation caught Percival off guard, making him even more unbalanced. "That's not it at all." Merlin, your large heart made you even more endearing to him. Your stubbornness to buck the social norm for what you felt was right. Those were the best parts of you as far as he was concerned. 

As far as wife…. The gold band on his finger was directly linked to yours, and he was sure that no other ring would ever sit in its place. Even if someday you discarded yours. 

A familiar trill broke the moment of silence. Nahuel pushed past McNally's legs, completely ignored Percival, and jumped up on the bed. The tawny cat sniffed your face minutely before settling in the crook of your neck, his golden eyes finally meeting Percival. He was well aware of the half-wampus' intelligence, and protective streak. It was said that wampus' had the ability of Legilimency, and it had never been more evident. It wasn't words or any clear thought, but a strong feeling that rose from the depths of his mind.

Protect. Kin. 

Kin. Family. 

He had a duty to do. He gripped his wand tight; he needed to do his job and leave. He needed to put all of this behind him. He didn't reach the title of Director second-guessing himself or his duty.

But that was why he ended up where he was now. Having his heart torn in two, longing plaguing nearly every waking hour. 

"Don't tell her I was here," he finally said, looking back at the no-maj. "Please."

McNally's nostrils flared and it was easy to tell he wanted to press further. Yet after a long, tense moment he sighed and stepped to the side of the door. "Get, before I change my mind. And if I ever see you again, it better mean that you're going to treat her right."

A wry smile crossed Percival's lips as he left without another word. 

If only.

***

You knew something was wrong the moment you woke up.

It was dark; only the kerosene lamp on the bedside table was lit, providing a soft light that didn't reach the corners of the room. One of the kitchen chairs had been dragged into your bedroom, but right now it was empty. The only other being beside yourself was Nahuel, who sat at the foot of the bed. His golden eyes bored into, causing an uncanny feeling that he was looking through you and peering straight to your soul. Something about it stirred the dregs of your memory, causing something akin to deja vu to wash over you. 

Your mind burned and ached as you tried to sort out what had happened. It was like trying to remember a dream, or maybe everything really had been just a vivid dream. Maybe nothing special had happened, or maybe all of it was from that bottle of moonshine McNally had given you as an early Christmas present. He had warned you it had been strong, but you had just laughed it off. 

Problem was, you didn't even remember drinking even a sip of it. 

The door creaked open and McNally appeared, a steaming mug of coffee in hand that he nearly dropped when he saw you. “You’re awake.”

“I think so,” you offered groggily, though your head continued to feel rather muddled. 

He took a seat in the chair, setting the coffee by the lamp. “Gave us quite a scare there girl.”

“What...happened?” you asked slowly. It terrified you that you couldn’t quite remember. Every time you thought you had a piece of the puzzle it dissipated like smoke.

“You passed out,” he answered carefully, which quickly caught your attention. The only time he thought about his words was around Modesty. The fact he refused to meet your eyes only cemented your belief that he was trying to hide something. McNally was good at a lot of things, but lying wasn’t one of them. 

“And?” You prompted after several tense moments. He turned his head away, scratching his head awkwardly, only confirming your suspicions that he was trying to hide something. “Cut the bullshit, what happened?”

“You yell at me for using that kind of language around Munchkin…” he grumbled as he finally met your gaze. IT lasted for maybe half a second before he caved. “Oh for God’s sake. That voodoo doctor doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” He shifted in his chair, leaning closer to you as his forearms rested on his legs. “Credence came back for a visit and for some godforsaken reason you suddenly decided to have a case of the vapors. Except you wouldn’t wake up so I sent Munchkin for help. Shortly after that, that old schmooze of yours came swanning in and insisted he needed to take you to a special doctor. I argued I already sent Munchkin for one and instead this cat,” he gestured towards Nahuel who had been watching the whole thing with unblinking eyes, “ had led her to this voodoo doctor instead of Dr. Richards.” Nahuel looked rather pleased about that when you glanced towards him. “Long story short, they dragged you away to Mount Sinai, saying something about ‘intensive care’ to only bring you back a few hours later, saying you’d probably be out of it for a few days.” 

You rubbed your face, your mind spinning. Credence. You could barely place a face, having only a vague idea who McNally was talking about. Like when your parents talked about some estranged family member you met once as a child. But that wasn’t right. He… he was...

The more you pressed the harder it was to catch a thought and the more your head hurt. McNally clapped you on the shoulder, pulling you out of your circling thoughts. “I’m gonna go tell Modesty you're awake. She’s been absolutely terrified.”

You nodded, rubbing your forehead. What had you been thinking of? It seemed important, but you couldn’t remember for the life of you. Nahuel gave one of his odd chirps to catch your attention, crawling up onto your lap and demanding affection. It was soothing, the headache easing as you scratched at his ears. By the time Modesty ran into the room with a cry, the pain was virtually gone.


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY THE PLOT STARTS TO MOVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay! I thank anyone who has stuck it out this far! It's true when they say if you don't write you start to lose the ability. I went too long supressing my ideas because of work that it's been hard to get into the groove.

It was an ungodly hour in the morning when Percival shuffled into the kitchen, flicking a light into the lamp hanging above the breakfast nook. All he really wanted was to be asleep, wrapped in warm blankets and dreaming of a better life. But tonight that seemed impossible. Instead nightmares lurked whenever he closed his eyes.

A harsh pounding at the door interrupted any further depressing thoughts. Percival jerked, spilling his coffee, but barely aware of it. He switched to his Auror mindset, cautiously stalking towards the apartment door, wand in hand and ready to either defend or curse.

Credence opened his door, a mixture of curiosity, caution, and fear on his face. A simple gesture from Percival and Credence closed his door to a sliver, only a dark eye and wand tip visible. They had practiced simple defensive and offensive spells, but it was more the fact he had control over the Obscurus that reassured Percival. Knowing he had that destructive force on his side, ready no matter who or what was behind the door. 

There was another bang at the door, followed by a familiar booming voice: “Percival Graves, open the door this instant! I’ve waited long enough to see my grandson!”

Percival’s shoulders slumped in relief while Credence emerged from the doorway, curiosity overcoming his caution. Especially as Percival undid the spells guarding the door before turning the plain deadbolt lock. The woman standing in the hall was a virtual opposite of Credence's ...grandfather that he had met briefly at Mount Sinai. Her skin was darkened by the sun, her hair an equal mix of black and silver, and a warm smile on her face. She dumped an over-packed rucksack by the door, pulling Percival into a tight — but brief — hug before setting her sights on Credence. 

There was a sharp look in her eye as she studied him intently, her smile fading. “It’s been nearly eighteen years since I last saw you,” she whispered. “C’mere, boyo, let me see you.” She gestured with a leathery hand, and he glanced towards Percival, still unsure. Percival nodded reassuringly, and Credence slowly walked closer, expecting the smile to fall away and turn into a sneer or something worse. 

But there was no condemnation in her eyes as she cupped his face but a few tears matched with a watery smile. “I came back as soon as the news reached me, but travel between continents still takes far too long.” Without warning, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into a tight hug. His first real hug since waking up in Mount Sinai, and Credence all but melted into it. It reminded him so much of your hugs, her strength and warmth comforting to his soul. “By the gods, I’ve missed you so much,” she cried in his ear. “My boy, my poor little grandson. I am so glad to have you back.”

***

Meeting his grandmother had given Credence hope. Emma Graves was as bossy and headstrong as she was maternal. Having someone fussing over him… it truly made him feel welcome. Almost even loved. Granted, not as much as when you determinedly pulled him from his shell and showed your maternal side, but enough to ease some of the pain of losing you.

“... and don’t tell me you never learned how to prepare a decent meal,” Emma complained, her wand working as quick as Credence's eye could follow, her bark aimed towards Percival. “I made sure to ingrain it into your head that you can’t survive on coffee and whatever you can scavenge from who-knows-where. To be able to perform at your best, you need at least _one_ square meal a day.”

“She loves to lecture,” Percival whispered. He sat across from Credence at the small breakfast nook, a wry smile on his face despite his mother’s scolding words. “Back in the day when she was a part of the congress, her speeches were legendary. She lectured the president and whole of the magical congress when they were trying to pass some idiotic law.”

“Idiotic?” she scoffed, plainly able to overhear him. “They were trying to fill their pockets with money and take away the freedoms of the covens of our country! Standardized testing! As if the whole of the country follows Ilvermorny’s lesson plans! As if Ilvermorny was a shining star that encompassed all there is to know! Don’t get me wrong, I am a proud alumni and I don’t have a problem with the school itself. But it’s not for everyone…” She trailed off, giving Percival a dark look. “You got me off topic again.” 

“I did, didn’t I?” He shot back with a smile. 

She rolled her eyes with a huff. “You’re incorrigible.” She grabbed a few plates, while the rest floated beside her, filled to the brim. Pancakes, bacon, eggs, sausage, hash browns, just about every kind of breakfast food Credence could think of and then some, settled on the table. “I want both of you to eat as much as you want. Especially you, dear,” her tone changed, becoming soft as she settled next to Credence. “You’re nothing but skin and bones.”

There was a long moment filled with clinking silverware and quiet chewing. The food was perhaps the best he had in a long time, and while he felt full, Credence also didn’t want to pass the chance to eat. He still had that worry in the back of his mind after years of being sent to bed without supper, which was one of Mary Lou’s favorite punishments. But after several plates he had to admit he couldn’t eat anymore and leaned back, becoming aware of the subtle glances sent his way. 

“I’m not one to beat around the bush,” his grandmother said, setting down her coffee cup. “So forgive me if I’m too blunt. But has that wretch of a daughter came to visit?”

He frowned, looking towards Percival. The older man sighed, setting down his own cup. “She hasn’t visited Credence, no.”

“Has she visited you?” 

Percival glanced towards Credence and nodded his head. An ache struck at Credence’s heart. He had been told his birth mother was a harsh woman, but it hurt that she would visit his uncle and not him. “And? What did she have to say?” 

“Nothing I want to repeat,” Percival stated darkly. 

The silence was tense, filled with nothing but dark and heavy thoughts before she gave a dry huff. “How is it that the least affectionate child of mine has been blessed with three beautiful children, and the one who would be a decent parent is the one childless?” 

Percival’s expression grew dark, which didn’t go unnoticed. Her annoyance changed into somberness, “I heard through the grapevine you and the no-maj woman were quite close.”

The statement was nonchalant, but her sharp eye caught the slight flinch as Percival avoided her gaze, and instead focused on his empty plate. “I won’t say a word,” she said softly after a moment. “Unlike Eleanor, you accept and know what you did was illegal. But also unlike your sister, you probably had good reason for it.”

Percival met Credence’s eyes. He had a reason, as flimsy as it was. The relationship between you and Credence likely had a pivotal role in helping Credence control the Obscurus, but his main motivation had been purely selfish. He loved you, and didn’t want to let you go. 

“What was she like?” The question was aimed at both men, who shared another glance before slowly sharing their favorite things about you. Your smile, your kindness, your tenacity. It melted into stories, and they were more telling each other, sharing in the one common thing they had. 

Their love of you, whether it was platonic or romantic. They both loved you. And they both lost you.

***

Modesty’s hand was warm as it fitted in yours, swinging slightly as you walked down the streets of New York. Usually you worked on Sundays, though the shop was only open for half the day. The other half you spent helping Modesty with school work, or learning the bookwork McNally was always so busy with.

But Modesty had been terrified after seeing you collapse yesterday, and had refused to leave your side since last night. Which had been fun, considering you bed was barely big enough for you, let alone an eleven year old curled in your side and Nahuel sharing your pillow. 

McNally literally demanded that you were taking the day off, and insisted you get some fresh air. Besides, as he pointed out, it was a week before Christmas and neither of you had a clue what to give to Modesty. You wanted something special to give her, not a run of the mill doll or something else generic. And being subtle in conversations wasn’t exactly your forte. The whole ‘what do you want Santa to bring you?’ didn’t work when Mary Lou had erased all Christmas innocence because magic was ~~real~~ evil. 

Your free hand rubbed at your forehead, another headache throbbing behind your temple. There was worry evident in Modesty’s blue eyes as she looked up at you. Your headaches were becoming frequent and painful enough you found yourself crying. At least, that's what you assumed it was; they were over within seconds, but tears still stung at your eyes for a while afterwards. 

“Shall we go visit that new bakery?” You asked with a smile, trying to soothe the worried expression. “You know, the one with all the cute critters?” 

“Do you think it will be open?” She asked. 

“Oh yeah, I heard he stays open on Sundays so people can enjoy fresh pastries every day.” 

“Mary Lou always said that people who worked on Sundays were going to hell.” 

The statement made you pause for a second, that familiar frustrating rage returning. “Sweetie, she thinks witches are—!” 

You bit your lip to stop the curse from leaving your mouth, jerking your hand from hers to press against the stabbing pain. You breaths were gasps as the world spun, making you feel sick. Your mind was a befuddled mess of half-thoughts and ideas. 

~~Magic.~~

~~Witches.~~

~~Wizards.~~

~~_Remember!_ ~~

“Momma?” Modesty spoke, then calling your name softly. “Are you okay? Do - do you need to go home?” 

“N-no, I’m fine,” you tried to reassure, though your voice even sounded strained to your own ears. “Maybe we’ll stop by the drugstore on our way home for some tylenol or something.”

She was quiet for a while as you continued down the street, no longer pausing to look at the different shop windows as she had been. “... you’re not getting sick, are you?” She finally whispered as you stopped at a street corner, waiting for the traffic to clear. “You’re not… you’re not going to die like my parents did, are you?” 

“No! No, I’m not going to die.” You knelt down so you were eye level with her. Fear and worry were evident on her face, which was made worse by the tears gathering in her eyes. “They’re just headaches. I’m probably just not getting enough sleep, or maybe I’m just overly stressed. But I promise, nothing bad is going to happen to me. Okay?” 

Your words seemed to bring little comfort as tears started to fall, her lip quivering as she tried to reign in her emotions. “I don’t want to lose you. And I don’t want to go back to living with _her_ either.”

You wrapped your arms around her and pulled her close. Her own arms wrapped around your neck, hugging you tight as she cried softly. Guilt gnawed at you, despite knowing it was out of your control. “You won’t, honey. I promise. You’re stuck with me and McNally. Your never going back there. And I’m never going to leave you.” You wiped her tears with the handkerchief you pulled from your pocket, offering a smile. “Dry those tears. Today is going to be a good day. We’ll go eat all the sweets we want, and then we’ll go window shopping for Christmas presents, okay?”

She nodded her head, her hand wrapping tightly around yours. The walk to the bakery was quiet, though you were glad to see she perked up some once the bakery came into view. It was a small shop stuck in between two larger stores, yet the place was busy, with people going in and coming out constantly. The sweet, home-like smells of bread and pastries helped you to relax, putting a smile on your face as you waited in the short line outside. 

Despite the chill of outside and the door being opened so much, the inside of the bakery was warm and inviting. Modesty let go of your hand to look at the different types of pastries, easily darting between people thanks tk her small lithe stature. There were your typical donuts, small cakes, and a variety of freshly baked loaves of bread. But then there were the specialties the bakery was famous for. The cute little critters he sculpted from dough, baked to a golden crisp and filled with whipped cream or chocolate fluff. 

You knelt next to Modesty, who was all but drooling at some rhino-like creature. “Those do look really good. Should we get a few?”

“Yes!” She grinned, excitement evident on her face. There was no fear, and no trace of the haunted look that usually lingered in her pale eyes. McNally was right, both of you needed this time to be away from everything.

You motioned towards one of the busy employees, and caught the attention of the baker himself. You had seen him in the newspaper article about his new store, yet he was familiar. There was a twang of pain behind your eyes that quickly dissipated to your relief.

“Hello, ladies!” He smiled warmly, nodding to Modesty with a fond look. “What can I get for you?”

“A couple of those,” you gestured to the baked creatures. 

“Two Erumpents coming right up!”

“Erumpents?” You laughed slightly at the name. “Wherever did you come up with that?”

“Well, honestly,” his smile grew soft and rather fond as he handed you the small paper bag. “I’ve had these funny dreams for about the last few weeks. Amazing, realistic dreams…”

He trailed off, lost in thought. The odd thing was, you felt a tug of understanding. The odd dreams that haunted you at night, so life-like and real but disappeared like mist in the morning, leaving only an aching loss that lingered through the day.

“I have dreams like that, sometimes.” Modesty added quietly, surprising you. She was always far too shy to talk with strangers, often letting you do all the talking while she clung to your side. “There’s a cat that visits our shop. And I had a dream where he could change into this big cat and protected me from the darkness.”

You remembered her telling you that a few days before. Nahuel and… someone else. A brother? A brother with….

“Dreams are really crazy things, aren’t they?” Jacob said with a wink, drawing you out of your thoughts. “Sometimes they’re so amazing you wonder if magic really is real.”

Another headache hit you with a flurry of odd half-memories, random words joined together and chanted in your head. By the time it faded, you were leaning heavily on the counter and both Jacob and Modesty were at your side, worry evident on their faces. “I-I’m fine. Just a really bad migraine,” you explained with an apologetic smile. 

As you said your goodbyes to Jacob, and took Modesty’s hand to reassure her once more, one thing became clear. You finally realized the trigger. Even thinking the word _magic_ caused your head to throb. Your logical side wanted to scoff at the thought, how could a word trigger such intense pain? Yet your heart _knew_ something was going on. These weren’t regular headaches. They kept you from thinking about magic, of probing those odd half thoughts that the word invoked. 

Maybe… maybe magic _was_ real. The thought caused another stab of pain, but you pushed through it, repeating it continually in your mind. Slowly the pain eased up, and it felt as if your mind was a little more clear. The revelation strengthened your determination. Something was going on, and you weren’t going to stop until you figured out what.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice the woman entering the shop until your bumped into her. There was a strong feeling of deja-vu as you met her bright blue eyes; she looked so familiar from her devastatingly beautiful face, painted lips parted in surprise and golden curls falling down from her pink hat.

She blinked, ending your trace and you realized you had been staring. “Oh my, I am so sorry!” you apologized. “I wasn’t paying any attention.”

The woman smiled, though it looked a little strained. “No, it’s okay honey. You have a lot on your mind right now. Just-” she paused, biting her lips and looking around carefully for a moment before she leaned in closer and whispered. “Keep fighting, okay? They both need you.”

“Oh hey, Queenie!” Jacob greeted from behind you, but you were too confused, searching her bright blue eyes for an explanation. She only smiled, gave you a friendly pat on the cheek before walking past, greeting the baker in return. 

Modesty spoke your name, ending your daze. “Who was that?” 

“I-I don’t know. An old friend, I think.”

***

"So, yule night I expect you back at the manor," Emma Graves gave Percival a meaningful look as they waited for Credence. "I won't ask for the whole week but at least one night I want all my children and grandchildren under one house."

"I'm not sure that'll be wise," Percival argued slowly, thinking about the last Graves family reunion. It had not ended well, to say the least. "I'm not sure you should be taking Credence back to the manor either."

"Balderdash," she huffed. "The boy needs to get away from this. I appreciate you taking him under your wing, but he needs out of the city and out of the limelight."

"The press haven't bothered him." Thanks mainly to a few well placed bribes and threats from both him, the Goldstiens, and President Piquery herself. Speculation ran wild and , but no one actually dared to approach the young man. "Do you think he is ready for father? Or his mother for that matter?"

“I will talk with Eleanor and Phineas both,” Emma said, her expression turning severe. “If they think that they are going to make this joyous occasion one of their infamous debacles, they are going to be sadly mistaken. Besides, Eleanor is going with her husband to make calls to aristocats across the nation. Just and Pru will be staying with us, so he can connect with his siblings.” 

“...what are my sisters like? They wrote to me,” Credence continued when both Emma and Perivale looked over to him. There was no way to tell how long he had been there, one of Emma's spare rucksacks leaning against his leg with his few things he had acquired: some clothes, books given by both the Goldstiens and Percival, along with a few miscellaneous objects that had been gifted to him. “Prudence and Justice, right? What are they like?” 

“Ornery,” Percival answered first, after a moment with a faint smile. “They give their mother hell every chance they get. I may have encouraged their behavior a time or two until Eleanor started to keep them away.” 

"Between you and Jiffy, they did turn out much better than expected," Emma agreed. "Are you ready to go meet them?" 

Credence glanced to the windows that showed New York. This city had been all he had ever known, his whole life had been spent here. Part of him was terrified by the idea of leaving, yet there was no denying the excitement that coursed through his veins at the idea of finally leaving the city. Of escaping it, just as he had always dreamed about. 

And now that both you and Modesty were cut off from him, there was nothing holding him back. "Yeah, I am."

***

McNally had a faint scowl on his face as he watched you bundle up in a coat and scarf. “I still think you should go out tomorrow and I’ll watch the damn shop for a few hours.”

“You’re having a hard enough time moving,” you shot back with a knowing look. The temperature was steadily dropping as the days grew shorter, and like most older people you knew, McNally’s joints complained bitterly about it. It was odd to see the gruff old man wince as he moved, or start using a plain wooden cane not just for his commute home, but around the store. “I’ll be fine, I promise.” 

“This time of year we always see a spike in muggings,” he warned. “Muggings, break-ins, murders, the whole lot. And munchkin has had a hard enough time as it is.”

“I’m only going to be a few hours, and I promise not to go down any dark alleys.” He gave you a hard glare for your teasing tone. He was honestly worried about you, which caused your smile to soften. “I promise I’ll be careful. I have a small list of things for Modesty and I know exactly where to find them.”

McNally's expression didn't change as he gritted his teeth before giving in. He knew there was no way to change your mind when you were dead-set on something. “If you aren’t back by ten, I’m calling my friends at the station.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” you agreed, stepping in for a quick hug. It still made him freeze for a moment, but he gave you a quick hug and a pat on the back. “You’ll help Modesty with her homework?”

“Psh, no,” he scoffed. “It’s Christmas week, she doesn’t need to be worrying about verbs, adverbs, and all that junk.” 

“One page is all I’m asking,” you pleaded as you headed for the door. “Just finish one page tonight, okay?” 

He gave gruff ‘hmph’ as the door closed behind you, the warm air dissipating quickly as the cold enveloped you. The sky was dark, but plenty of people still filled the sidewalks. You knew you could have gone earlier in the day, or tomorrow, but part of your reasoning was the fact you just needed some time to yourself. You wanted to be able to sort through your thoughts and not have to worry about Modesty or McNally fussing every time you flinched from the sudden headache. 

Magic. Just the thought caused a twinge of pain, but you held on stubbornly to the word. To the idea that magic could be _real._

Logic ridiculed the idea: magic was _not_ real. It was the twentieth century, where science and technology had disproven such silly notions. Magic, witches, wizards, it was all make believe, or in the case of Mary Lou, utter lunacy fueled by religious fanaticism.

_But,_ you argued to yourself as you strolled down the bustling sidewalks, what about Credence? Modesty’s brother, someone you knew you had met more than once but your memory of him was cloudy at best. And then the woman you saw at the bakery yesterday, the memory fuzzy already but you held on to the notion that you had known her. That she had been a friend; a close, _dear_ friend. 

And then the mysterious man McNally said brought you home from the hospital. Your ‘beau’ as the gruff older man had called him. Except you never had a man in your life since moving to New York. Your life had been crazy enough without romance thrown in the mix. 

Yet something told you different, your _heart_ told you different. Was that the heaviness that had been weighing on your soul this last week? Or was that Credence? 

Credence Barebone. The woman at the bakery. Your mystery man. Three people that you swore you knew, yet your memory of them was virtually nonexistent. You could remember everything else clearly, from your life back home to the wretched Mary Lou. You remembered Modesty’s ‘sister’ Chastity from the few times you met her during the fight for custody of Modesty. Why couldn’t you remember those three? 

The only answer you came up was magic. It had to be the answer, right? But then why? Why would someone magically wipe those three from your memory? Why you, and no one else? 

You played with the idea as you finished your shopping, which really wasn’t much. As hard as you tried to prod Modesty into saying what she would like for Christmas, the girl had been reserved. She had all the toys she wanted and was convinced she had enough clothes, books, and whatever else young girls usually wanted. There were only a few things that caught her eye yesterday, and you had made sure that you took note. 

A few hours later, you had a shopping bag filled with everything you thought your adoptive daughter would enjoy, and a few things for McNally that had caught your eye. The streets were far less busy on your walk home than they had been earlier. You felt a little more cautious as you hurried home, McNally’s threat ringing in your mind. 

So wrapped in watching the shadowed alleys, you jumped as a yowl cut through the night. Nahuel sat on one of the steps of a nearby building, his golden eyes shining in the streetlights. You relaxed, scowling at the cat. “You’re trying to scare me to death, aren’t you?” 

He blinked slowly, jumping down the steps to rub against your leg as if trying to apologize. Even with the bag on your arm, you leaned down to give his head a scratch, only for your fingers to catch on the black collar on his neck, reminding you again of the initials your mind had tried to forget. 

“Do… do you live near here?” you asked quietly. You looked around, trying to decide which of the apartment buildings he would live in. Or maybe one of the townhouses across the street, surely they were a fancy enough place for a cat like him. But there was that nagging feeling again; drawing up images of a marble and gold antechamber, a deep rich wood staircase. 

Nahuel answered with his odd little chirp and walking a few paces in front of you before pausing. The piercing look in his eyes was answer enough. Without even thinking, you followed the cat down the sidewalk, pass the corner where you should’ve turned to take you home. Pass the old boarding house where you had lived not even a month ago before Mrs. Shapiro had thrown you to the streets and ripped you of your meager possessions. 

Why had you been thrown out? The thought lingered as you cast a glance to the unlit window that had been yours. You had been gone, sick, and…. You worried your ring, trying to catch the wisps of a foggy memory that was laced with heartache. Another memory clouded from you; another dozen questions without an answer. 

You were pulled from your thoughts as Nahuel paused at the gilded doors of a brownstone apartment building. Just looking at the doors gave you a headache as something tried to pull your attention away, as if trying to make you forget the place existed. Except you focused your attention on the tawny cat, his gold eyes locked with yours as you forced yourself past the pain in your head, your body aching as you walked up the steps and opened the door. 

You were not giving up. You were _not_ going to let whatever force control you. You were going to get answers no matter what. 

Nahuel went up the stairs slowly, pausing to look back at you. Every glance of those golden eyes gave you strength and eased the pain that was trying to make you flee. It was an odd feeling. 

He was an odd cat. 

He blinked slowly, purring as the thought crossed your mind. 

He was an odd cat. 

He… he wasn’t a cat. The idea stuck in your mind as you followed him down the hall. He wasn’t a normal cat, he was something else. Something special. 

Something magical. 

He sat down by an apartment door. The golden numbers gave you deja vu, your heart pounding in your chest, your face becoming warm. You knew this door. You knew whoever lived here. You only hesitated for a brief moment before knocking softly.


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're reunited with Nahuel's mysterious owner, and Credence's mother insults him. 
> 
> This seems like it could be a description for book one!

You had zero expectations in regards to who would open the door. And yet it still surprised you when the man that had visited the store stood before you. You silently chastened yourself as the fuzzy memory suddenly popped into your mind. "Of course. You're Nahuel's owner, who else would it be?"

The man said nothing in reply to your mutterings but looked completely stunned by your presence before gently reaching out to brush your cheek, as if to make certain you were truly before him. "How?" he whispered as his calloused fingertips brushed your skin.

"Nahuel," you whispered as well, your heart suddenly beginning to race as you became caught in his dark eyes. Your heart said you knew this man, more than just those two small encounters. That he was more than a virtual stranger.

A door clicked open further down the hall, distracting you for a split second before the man grabbed your arm and pulled you swiftly into his apartment. The door latched behind you far to quickly, granted you barely noticed as you focused on not falling as you stumbled. 

"Shit. Shit. Shit." The man cursed, but your attention was captured by the sitting room you had been dragged into. At first glance, everything seemed normal, familiar even. And then you noticed the odd devices lining the many bookcases, the odd titles of the books, or the fact you swore the paper had just settled itself into neat piles on the desk. 

There was an odd deja vu feeling the longer your eyes roamed around, studying the details. The now-familiar pain began to throb behind your eyes as your mind and heart tried to tell you two separate things: your heart declared it was all familiar, while your mind was insisting it was completely foreign. 

It was familiar to you, you decided firmly, trusting your heart over logic. Just like the man himself was strangely familiar. 

You had been here before; lounging on one of the chairs, curled up with a book. Without any kind of hint, you knew where the kitchen was with its little breakfast nook that overlooked the city. You knew which closed door led to his bedroom, and knew the bed was a perfect mix of soft and firm.

Nahuel jumped to the back of on one of the chairs, his golden eyes settled on you. He seemed happy and content as he settled into a crouch and stared back before slowly blinking. 

Had he led you here for a purpose? He had to have, yet he was a...a…

Cat? No. He was something else. 

You looked back over to man, P.G. your mind recalled at least that small tidbit of information, feeling your chest squeeze at the way his black hair was ruffled, his buttoned shirt partly undone, and the expression on his face. Full of fear, warmth, and so much more. “I’m sorry,” the words tumbled out before you could think. “I showed up unannounced and this...I wasn’t supposed to, was I?” It was an odd idea that popped into your mind. You could swear something about this was...not exactly wrong, but not right all the same. 

You weren’t supposed to be here. 

“No,” he admitted, his hand falling from his head. “I never imagined you would be able to remember.”

You filed that thought away as you looked down at your bag, the wrapped presents still settled inside. Remember. So you _had_ been here before. “How?” you asked softly, looking back up, determination settling in your heart. No more just letting all of this slide to the back of your mind. You were going to get to the bottom of this _now_.“How did I forget? Why did I forget?” 

The conflict in his mind was plain on his face as he studied your face before a smile tugged at the edges of his lips. “You sure are stubborn, aren’t you?” 

Despite the fondness, you stood a little bit taller in defiance. “I don’t take kindly to the idea of my memories being erased,” you answered tartly, and the smile on his face faded. “I know you. I know this place. I know so _much_ and it just keeps eluding my grasp. It’s just so frustrating because I know I know you, I know that I care for you, but I don’t know anything.” 

Tears pricked your eyes, and you set the bag down so you could rub them away. Crying was the last thing you wanted to do, but you couldn’t control your emotions. The mix of confusion, love, hurt, and loss was like a tidal wave crashing down on you. There was a giant ache in your chest where memories of these people once resided. Credence, this man, that woman in the bakery. They had meant so much to you and it drove you insane that you couldn't remember why. 

He whispered your name as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. “Sweetheart, please, don't cry.” The embrace and subtle scent of cologne brought you some comfort as you buried your face in his shoulder, fingers digging into the white cloth of his shirt. “I’m sorry," he continued as he stroked your hair "I am so sorry.”

You looked up at him and saw the sadness in his eyes as he wiped away your tears. “How did I forget you?” you whispered. “Why can’t I remember you?” And why was he sorry?

There was a pause before he admitted softly, “I can’t answer that. But, it’s not your fault. And you’re not going crazy.”

 _Magic,_ you thought, clenching your teeth at the pain that accompanied it. But you couldn’t admit that out loud. Surely you were being outlandish.

But nothing else fit. Nothing else could explain the mystery clouding your mind. 

He gave your cheek one more caress before stepping away. “Let me grab my coat and I’ll walk you home.” 

“You don’t have to,” you offered automatically with another rush of deja vu, making you stumble over your words as he grabbed a black long coat from the wrought iron coat rack, the fabric settling perfectly across his shoulders. "I- I’ve intruded enough.”

“I want to," P.G reassured with a smile tinged with sadness, making you feel more certain you _had_ said those words before. That you've done this routine, had this argument, several times before. “Besides, what sort of gentleman would I be if I didn’t walk a beautiful woman home, especially this late at night?” 

He offered his arm, and you only hesitated for a moment before linking your arm with his. His whole body radiated warmth and security, only affirming your suspicions.

It felt _right_ walking down the streets with him, arm in arm. You were certain that you had done this before, but you didn’t allow the confusion to disturb the moment or the comfortable silence that had fallen. You didn’t ask how he knew that you lived above the corner store, or why he seemed to know the way by heart. You wanted to relish this warm feeling that had bloomed in your heart. The feeling of how _right_ this was.

Unfortunately, it wasn't that far of a walk from his place to yours. The small store appeared out of the gloom; the main store windows were darkened but the lights are bright behinds the pulled curtains on the second story where Modesty and McNally were waiting.

Yet, even with the cold nipping at your nose and any exposed skin, you were hesitant to part ways once you reached the side door. and it could have been your imagination, but he seemed reluctant to allow your arm part with his

“Thank you,” you offered as you lingered before the door earning a soft smile from him. 

“It was a pleasure,” he answered, taking your hand and bestowing a parting kiss on your knuckles. Another startling familiar thing that caused your heart to ache.

After a moment of hesitation, P.G. turned to leave. Without thinking you reached out to stop him by pinching the cuff of his coat. The expression in his eyes as he turned back to you made your heart ache even more. His dark eyes were filled with both hope and resigned sadness. 

All because you couldn’t remember. 

“Kiss me?” you whispered as a faint plead, but halfway regretting at the haunted look on his face grew even more troubled.

However, he didn’t hesitate or protest, but stepped closer, brushing your face tenderly as his gaze locked with yours. That same feeling of familiarity led you to tilt your chin up, sinking into the tender brush of his lips. 

It felt so right. So familiar. His taste was like a fuzzy memory that brought warmth to your soul. His touch was as familiar as a lover’s. His scent was like coming home. 

It was a long yet chaste kiss, and neither of you wanted it to end. Though, of course, it had to. A sigh escaped as you finally parted. Though he didn't move much except to You had done this before. This tender kiss, filled with love and sorrow.

Tears burned at your eyes as you crumpled against him, burying your fists in his shirt and sobbing against his shoulder. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you close. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I know you.” You pulled back just enough to look up into his eyes. “God, I _know_ you." You knew everything about his face, there was nothing unfamiliar, not even the faint grey hairs you could see peppering his temples, or the faint scars marking his skin. "Why can’t I remember? I can remember everything else but it’s like you’re a ghost, and everything about you keeps trying to fade away.”

He only gave a sad enigmatic smile. “You need to forget me. Let those memories fade.”

“What? No! No, I can't forget you--" Your words were silenced by another kiss. This one firm, demanding as he cupped your face. It wasn’t the soft lingering kiss of before, but one filled with the desperation of a dying man. 

“You have to,” he said hoarsely as he broke away, pleading your name. “Forget about me, and anything else you’re struggling to remember. Just let it fade away.” 

“Why?” you asked weakly. “Why do you want me to forget you?” 

You thought there could be an answer on his face, in the look in his eyes as he tried to memorize your face, but you were unable to decipher it. He pressed one last kiss to your forehead before he turned and disappeared back into the night, not glancing back even once. You wanted to scream out his name, and it was on the tip of your tongue, but that mental block refused to allow it to form. 

Despite his words, you were certain of one thing: you would _not_ forget.

***

There was a long moment of confusion when Credence woke. This wasn't his room filled with borrowed books and soft plush bed, nor was it the small room of ~~home~~ the apartment above the corner store.

The room was large and expansive; just like everything in the Graves Manor. Large, dark, and rather gloomy. The place felt like it had been built centuries ago; well maintained through the years but never updated as time marched on. The only source of light came from candles that flicked to life as soon as he sat up, illuminating to warm but oppressive room. A pressed outfit was draped on the chair near the wardrobe, and he was certain they weren't there last night. His shoes sat next.to the dark trousers and had been shined to an inch of their lives, reflecting the candlelight. 

As soon as he stepped out of bed, the black curtains whipped away from windows, allowing the dim sunlight inside. From the second story, he could see the lawn stretch towards the barren woods that surrounded the property. He was thankful for the overcast skies, otherwise the light off of the snow that blanketed the lawn would be blinding. 

There was a pop as soon as he finished changing into the set of clothes. All which fit perfectly. (Even after these last turbulent weeks, he could not quite adjust to having sleeves and pant legs that didn't ride up a few inches.) A squat woman with wispy white hair and large floppy ears was behind him, her olive-brown skin wrinkled so much he could barely make out her dark eyes. "You missed lunch, Master Credence. Dinner is a few hours yet, would you like something in the meantime?"

"...huh?" Was his eloquent answer, still trying to process her sudden appearance. "I...who are you?"

She smiled, or he thought so by the way the wrinkles on her face shifted. "Jiffy, Master Credence. The house-elf for the esteemed house of Graves. It's been a long time since I had the chance to serve you."

Credence was too stunned to speak, his thoughts running loops in his head. Was this a...a slave? Did wizards still keep slaves? He had thought they were very...forward-thinking, after learning of President Picauery and the assortment of characters he had met at MACUSA.

Jiffy tilted her head, her beady eyes staring out at him. "Are you okay, Master Credence? Can I fetch you anything?"

"What? Oh, n-no, I'm fine." He stumbled over his words, trying to grasp at what he wanted to say. What he could say. "I was just… I didn't think wizards would have… you know?"

Her head tilted the other way. "I'm afraid I don't know, Master Credence, sir."

"You don't… you don't need to call me that. Just Credence is okay."

Her eyes twinkled as a smile formed from the wrinkles, showing pearl white teeth. "Ah, you are a good boy then. Raised with manners." He flushed a little at the compliment. Even a little praise like that left him flustered and unsure how to say thank you. "So, what would you like to eat?"

He shook his head, "I-I can wait. You don't need to worry about me." 

"Balderdash," she snorted. "You're as thin as a wraith." Before Credence could protest, Jiffy snapped her spindly fingers and disappeared with a soft pop. 

Less than a second later, a literal feast appeared on a table that had popped into existence just as quick. Piled high with every dish he had heard of and many that were completely foreign to him yet smelled divine. He waited for a few minutes, expecting Jiffy or someone to return, but when no one did, he hesitantly gave in to hunger.

Just as he was finishing, there was an urgent knock at his door. Before he could even cross half the room the oak door opened, revealing twin pairs of dark eyes and pale faces. One girl appeared to be chubby with dark hair, while the other had a sharp face quite like his own, except for the bright red hair that stuck out at every angle. 

"Merlin, you _do_ look just like mom!" The dark-haired girl proclaimed as she threw open the door. She was quite tall in comparison to the younger girl, who looked like a colt, thin and knobby-kneed. "You're not anything like her though, right?"

"Pru, he hasn't met mom yet," the.younger one pointed out quietly before looking towards him. "She's Prudence, and I'm Justice. But call me Just."

"And we are all proof that mom has horrid taste in names!" Prudence proclaimed, having no qualms marching towards the buffet table and picking what was leftover. "I mean, really? You think we were living in the 1800s again."

"How are you adjusting?" Justice interrupted, giving a soft smile. Despite the bright red hair, something about her reminded him of Modesty.

"No! Tell us about the no-maj world!" Prudence interrupted before he could even think of an answer. "What's it like to fly in those weird balloons?"

"Balloon?" He frowned, trying hard to think of what she was referring to, but coming up short. 

"The big silver things! We heard about them during one of the parties mom dragged us to. Full of like, exploding gas and people ride them across the Atlantic."

"Wait, Zeppelins? I-I don't know what they're like…" he had only seen one briefly as it moved across the skies of Manhattan, briefly confused and awestruck as it blocked out the sun.

"Shoot. I wanted to know if it was anything like riding a broom. It just seems so weird, riding something that can burst into flames in a moment. But Bethany was saying it was the 'bee-knees' among the no-majs." 

"You guys...actually ride brooms?"

***

It was getting late in the evening with the sky darkening enough to let a hand full of stars shine, but the new found siblings paid little mind. The trio sat on the bed, books and other things spread out around them, mixed with half-eaten plates of food Jiffy had provided.

Credence had read plenty of books in the last few weeks. It was all he had really done. And while Queenie and Percival had done their best to help him adjust to this new world he had been forced into, they glossed over some facts they took for granted. Two teenage girls who had been kept from No-Maj society, however, were not only eager to learn about the forbidden world but happy to point out the differences. The books that were piled around them were Ilvermorny textbooks, and for once in their life, both Prudence and Justice were happy to do their assigned work. 

Jiffy found them sitting in a circle, books, papers, and plates of food surrounding them. The three siblings were talking excitedly. Well, Prudence was talking animatedly about the arguments for and against the practice of divination, while both Justice and Credence watched, both torn between being startled and impressed. 

"Children," she announced, magic slightly amplifying her soft voice as she struck her cane on the floor. "Supper will be served at a quarter till. Mistress Elanor and Jackson have arrived, and Master Percival will arrive shortly."

"Uncle Percy!" Prudence cheered, scrambling to her feet, while the other two were slower to follow. While she raced down the hall, Credence was hesitant to follow, anxiety clawing at his chest. 

This was it. He was going to meet his birth mother. He had dreamt of this for years, but in these last few weeks, it had turned from a dream into a sense of dread. He had learned that his mother was nothing like what he had imagined. She sounded as cold and cruel as Mary Lou, and the only person that had matched his dream….

Well, you no longer remembered him. 

Justice and Jiffy seemed to understand his reluctance. The small wrinkled woman (no, house-elf) gave a soft smile, and Justice hesitantly held his hand. 

"It'll be okay, my boy," Jiffy soothed. "Lady Emma won't allow any hostility on this sacred night."

That's right; it was Yule night, their version of Christmas. The holiday spanned a week, but this night was more special than the others. 

Jiffy led the way down the dark hall, while Justice walked silently by his side. The doors to the dining hall swung open silently as they approached. The room was the epitome of grandeur with a large crystal chandelier hanging over the long table and small white lights hanging from the chandelier stretching towards the walls of the room. 

Credence couldn't enjoy the scenery, his eyes fixed on the bony woman in the slinky emerald dress, sipping at a champagne glass. There was no mistaking who she was; Prudence had been right, they looked very similar. But there was a coldness in her eyes as she offered a strained smile that looked more like a sneer aimed at the short pudgy man beside her. 

Emma clucked her tongue as she approached, dressed in a shimmering yet conservative dress. "Jiffy assured me you three were behaving, though I was still worried when I hadn't heard a peep from any of you."

"We were, promise," Justice assured, giving a quick hug. As soon as she stepped back, Credence was gathered into the older witch's arms and given a tight hug. 

"Good. I'm glad you three are getting along.”

The doors leading to the main entryway opened again and Percival marched in, wearing his usual attire, and looking...exhausted. Emma huffed disapprovingly once she noticed, and Eleanor didn’t even bother to hide her snickering. “Look what the Kneazle dragged in.”

“Don’t even start, either of you!” Emma said sternly, pointing to them. “This is the first Yule night that we have _all_ of our family under one roof. You are both adults, and I expect you to act like for at least a few hours.” 

Credence hadn’t really noticed his eyes drifting to his biological mother until she looked at him briefly. It struck him the coldness in her dark eyes, far too similar to Mary Lou’s, and the faint sneer on her face before she quickly turned away. It was like a stab in his already fragile heart. The warmth that had been building after spending the afternoon with his sisters completely evaporated, leaving him as cold as the snowy night outside. He went from slowly adjusting to his new family to feeling isolated once more.

It was nearly too much for him to handle, and he felt that familiar numbness from when he lived with Mary Lou set it. His body went through the motions once food appeared on the table, and he sat between Prudence and Justice after they insisted, with Percival across from him. He could see the concern in the wizard’s eyes, even when everyone else continued with small talk between bites. Discussing people and places he had no knowledge of. For all intents and purposes, they could be talking in a different language and he would understand just as much. 

This wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t just the grandeur and decadence that left him feeling like an imposter, but these people that were related to him by blood were absolute strangers to him in every way.

“So quiet, boy,” Eleanor spoke halfway through the meal and after several glasses of wine. Her dark eyes pinned him, a faux smile on her face. “One would think you would be full of questions and curiosity. Or are you silently condemning us with that Scourer upbringing of yours?” 

“Eleanor!” hissed Emma and Percival had snarled at the same time. 

“What?” she scoffed. “He’s just sitting there, silently judging us. Just because I gave birth to him doesn’t mean he’s family. He’s his father’s son, thinking he’s better just for his beliefs.”

Everything happened at once. Percival stood quickly, wand drawn and pointed towards his sister. In a heartbeat, the other adults stood and had their wands drawn. Eleanor and her husband had their pointing predictably towards Percival, along with the elder Mr. Graves who obviously sided with his daughter while Emma’s was drifting between her two children. Prudence and Justice screamed and dived under the table. Credence shot to his feet, shaking as he tried to restrain the Obscurus. 

But it was no use. He didn't have near the mental strength after everything. the magical entity burst out, enveloping the whole room in blackness while the ear-splitting howl echoed in between the stone walls. Winds swept everything into a maelstrom, flinging tables, plates, everything in a rage before the magically-reinforced windows finally shattered, allowing Credence to escape into the night.


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad summary: Percival acts upon everyone's wishes and hexes his horrid sister. Credence stands up for what he believes in, and Nahuel just wants a damn nap.

"What was _that?_ " 

The lights that had withstood the blast dimly illuminated the destruction of the large dining hall. The table had been flipped and shredded. Glass and crystal shards dusted the ground, and food had been splattered everywhere. 

Percival was quietly impressed; not by the destruction, but that despite the chaos, no one had been injured beyond a few cuts and abrasions. Especially after he noticed Justice and Prudence looked completely untouched. 

"That would be your son," he dryly answered Eleanor, who looked the worst with her gown ripped and dirtied and hair completely covered in food. She shot him a scathing look, while her husband Jackson spluttered. 

"T-that was no human being!" he raged, his face turning red. "That was a monster!"

"Monster?" Percival stated, his ire quickly returning with a snarl. "That is a wizard who had to suppress his magic for decades because _she_ decided to be a spiteful bitch," he gestured to Eleanor, who quickly sneered. "He was abused by that woman and you accused him of being just like her!"

"I may have given birth to him but that is not my son!" Eleanor shot back. "I don't care, that-that thing is a monster! I refuse to acknowledge it as my child!"

It took all of Percival's training not to curse her; not a common hex, but the curses he had used overseas during the war. As it was: the paralyzing spell was damning enough as it struck her in the chest. Eleanor’s body went rigid as the power knocking her backward, and he hoped that she at least got a severe headache from the impact. Percival easily dodged Jackson’s retaliation, the stream of red light shooting past him and causing a knocked-over chair to explode. Before the other wizard could fire a second spell, Percival shot another spell that sent Jackson backward, landing on top of his paralyzed wife. 

“Percival!” Both elder Graves yell, but Percival paid them no mind. He quickly disapparated, leaving the Graves Manor and appearing a hundred miles away in New York. MACUSA’s lobby was empty and silent except for the rare flutter of owls and pigeons high above and his steps as he hurried. 

The night shift elevator goblin was quiet, only giving a nod to Percival before the elevator plummeted to the lower levels. It too was silent. Usually, there were a few Aurors milling about, too wrapped up in a case to take a night off. But on holiday nights only a few Aurors were dedicated enough to stay on the job and not find an excuse to return home. 

Hopefully, that meant he could slip in and out virtually undetected. The fewer people knew what was going on, the better. He didn’t want to cause another wave of uncertainty and suspicion to surround Credence. The boy had a hard enough time adjusting as it was. IF the public found out he didn’t have complete control of the Obscurus, his life would become ten times more difficult. 

Except Tina had to be as stubborn as him. She was standing before the map of Newyork, a scowl on her face as she watched the dim light race down the streets, flaring brightly before disappearing. She turned as soon as he stepped closer, her frown deepening as soon ash she saw him. 

"Tell me this is something new," Tina all but pleaded once he was next to her. "Don't tell me it's him."

"I wish I could." The flash of light made it hard to predict where he disappeared, but the neighborhood left no doubt for Percival. He had gone running back to you, again. 

"Why?" She asked, but he was already turning to leave. He couldn’t waste any time. "What happened?" 

"His mother," was his only answer. He hoped he wasn't too late. He prayed that the young wizard hadn't been that foolish. Not after last time. 

***

The next day had gone...oddly for you, to say the least. Not because you couldn’t forget, but because it was hard to keep your memory of what happened. Something kept trying to obscure the details or pass it off as a dream.

Magic. Magic was trying to make you forget. And it was giving you a severe headache for fighting against it, but you refused to allow it to take a single moment of last night from you. You wrote down every minute detail in a notebook you had stashed away, detailing even the smallest things you could remember. The titles of the books you had glanced at, the odd little devices that had decorated the bookcases. The deja vu moments, and any half-bidden thoughts that came to you through the day. Every single detail of the mysterious P.G., his dark eyes, slicked-back black hair, the sad smile on his face. How he smelt and tasted like home.

Of course, hiding the fact you had a severe migraine from both McNally and Modesty had been impossible. Both of them had hounded you throughout the day to rest and take it easy. You had tried to wave them off with a smile, but you could see they had been far from convinced by the look in their eyes. 

However, it did give you leverage that night when you were trying to convince Modesty to go to bed. "Can we read Jack and the Beanstalk quick?" she pleaded like any other child trying to deny the fact it was bedtime. "Or Beauty and the Beast?"

You laughed lightly, kissing her forehead. "We will have plenty of time to spend reading tomorrow. Promise." 

"Please, mom?" she whined as you stood up from the edge of her bed. “One more story?” 

"Goodnight, sweetie," was all you said, giving her a smile as you turned off the lamp. You gave her one last wave as you shut her door. Not completely, however. You left it open a quarter of the way to ward off any bad memories and nightmares. That and to allow Nahuel to wander in after a while. He was currently napping near the warm stove, but after Modesty fell to sleep he would nest on top of her blanket, just like every other night. 

You headed to the kitchen to finish cleaning up the mess from Modesty helping cook supper, giving Nahuel a scratch on his head and receiving a sleepy meow. Modesty wasn't a messy girl, but you couldn't stop playing around with her to make her smile. So flour and other things were strewn across the counters, and for once you were glad the kitchen was rather tiny. Less space to clean. 

As you were wiping down the counter, something made you pause. The hair on your neck inexplicably started to stand on end. Something was here, watching you. Your heart started to pound in your chest, and you wished you had made than a wooden spoon within reach. 

Still, you slipped the spoon into your hand, feeling more than a little foolish. No one would break into the store and head upstairs. Not when the safe was in McNally's office. Besides, Nahuel had fallen back asleep. If there was danger, you knew he’d...he’d…. You frowned at the deja vu that stayed just out of reach. He was a-a cat? No, if there was something wrong, he would protect you. 

You turned to face what you tried to convince yourself was an empty room, and froze when there was a black… cloud, for lack of a better word, hovering in the middle of the living room. It was less like a rain cloud, and more like a cloud of black sand twisting in the air. Something about it was so heart-aching familiar that it overcame any fear or surprise. The spoon clattered to the floor as you step closer, entranced by the shifting cloud. 

It contracted, almost out of fear. You instinctively held out your hand, palm upturned in an offering of peace. As if it was a frightened child and not...whatever it was. 

Slowly the sand-cloud drifted downward, condensing until you could see the form of a man. Tall and thin, his shoulders bowed and acting like a dog about to be whipped. Dark messy hair, a dark outfit but pale skin. He finally looked up at you, fear in his dark eyes, along with just a smidge of hope.

It was like someone had swung a sledgehammer against your skull. The pain was debilitating as you stumbled, a hand pressed to your head in a pitiful attempt to block out the pain. As soon as you stumbled, the young man rushed forward, barely hesitating before helping you stay steady. "No, no no no. Please don't… I didn't--I didn't mean to. I just didn't know where-- where to go. I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

A second passed and you pushed the pain aside, determined not to let it win. As it was, the young man was on the verge of crying when you looked up. You knew him. You knew him as much as you knew that person the other day. Maternal love filled your chest as a smile tried to firm on your lips. "It's okay," you found yourself saying. "It's okay. Just...just tell me your name, ok?"

There was a flash of pain on his face before he looked away, mumbling: "Credence." He pulled to step away, but you held on tight. Partially to stop him, and partially to steady yourself from the influx of pain and emotion. You pulled him even closer, holding on tightly. There was only a second of hesitation before he buried his face in your shoulder, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist. 

"Shhhhh, it's okay," you soothed as he sobbed. "It's okay Credence, it's all going to be okay." You weren't sure where the words came from other than your heart. Credence. Modesty's...brother? Right? He used...he used to be involved in your life. In the chaos of everything, you knew you cared for him. Not like the mysterious P.G. but like Modesty, a platonic maternal love for him that guided you to the couch, settling down and holding him close as if he were a small child and not a young man that towered over you. "I promise, everything is going to be alright."

You pressed a kiss to his hair, trying to smooth the messy hair down. You had an odd recollection it had once been limp and horribly cut, and had to admit the wildness suited him better. 

There was a soft click that made you look up, expecting Modesty to be peeking out of her door. But it wasn't her bedroom door--the one you had left partially open-- it was the 'front door' that led downstairs. And standing there was the mysterious P.G.

You should have been startled, screaming at his sudden appearance. Instead, you barely gasped and pulled Credence closer, a flare or protectiveness overcoming any sensible reaction. "What are you doing here?"

P.G. had an unreadable expression on his face, a mask you figured as he silently looked between you and Credence. The young man scrambled from your hold once he realized you were no longer alone. But instead of being scared, he stood protective in front of you, blocking you from view. "No. You're not touching her," the young man stated firmly, mixed with desperation. "I'm not letting you take them away. Not again."

"Credence…" the older man started, barely glancing at you as you stood up, peering over Credence's outstretched arm. "You know that--"

"No!" His answer was sharp and strong, reminding you strongly of a sharp sudden boom of thunder. The lights flickered, and you would have thought nothing of it if the worried scowl wouldn't have crossed P.G.s face. "You claim to be my family but you're not. You claim that I belong in your world, but I want no part of it! They are my family. This is where I belong. Not with you, but with her!"

***

Percival was at a loss for what to do, or what to even say. Sure, he had encountered situations similar before. Children who escaped and tried to return to their no-maj families. Except they had been children, no more than twelve usually, and their families had no clue who they were. More often than not, they found the children bawling and resigned to their fate. 

But this was Credence, a strong wizard whether he was aware of it or not. And it was you. You weren't scared but only a little confused. He could see it in the way you had been comforting Credence, or even now when you stood by his side. You remembered him, at least somewhat. You were fighting against the Oblivious Curse. 

A faint creak of wood and a whisper of cloth settling broke the silence, and he looked back to see a young girl, no more than eleven, step from a bedroom. He hadn't met her, but he was sure she must be Modesty from the way her eyes lit up once she saw Credence. You didn't have time to warn her before she darted across the small room and plowed into Credence's long legs. "You're back!" she cried happily. "You left without saying goodbye and I was so worried I would never see you again."

It was like a knife in his chest, making him feel like the villain.  

Because Credence was right. This was his family. He had endured a birth mother who called him a monster, and the mother who raised him had abused him every chance she got. And then you, adopting him despite the fact you were so close in age. Who loved him, even if you can't fully remember who he was. 

"Shit," he cursed under his breath. The grip of his wand in his pocket relaxed and he sighed in defeat. There was no way he had the resolve to do what should legally be done. Even if he didn't care so much for you, he couldn't rip a family apart. 

Credence met his gaze, the fear and anger softening as he realized Percival had given in. "Modesty, it's past your bedtime," you spoke after a long silence, your eyes fixed on Percival. There was still confusion evident in the way your eyebrows were knitted, but an understanding as well. "Credence, would you be a dear and tuck her back in? Maybe read her a story as well? I...I think we need to have a talk."

Credence was hesitant to leave, but Modesty pulled on his arm. "Yes! I want to show you all the books I have now! I can even read most of them too!" 

The bedroom door was left partially open, pointedly, by Credence. Percival was able to discern his meaning, and by the wry expression on your face, you did too. "I would say that we could have more privacy downstairs, but I think we probably shouldn't. Kitchen?"

He nodded and followed you. He hadn't paid attention to everything when...when he was here last. It was a small place but it looked familiar-- a mirror image of how Credence had decorated his quarters. Homely and welcoming. Nothing fancy, but far from squallerly. 

Nahuel was curled on the top of the stove, barely twitching a whisker, though his eyes were half-open. No-maj kitchens were quite different from the ones he was used to, odd equipment he had no names for. He wondered if this was how you felt when you stayed with him.

You pulled down two mismatched cups before reaching something and pausing mid-reach. "You're...some kind of law-man, aren't you?"

Your hesitancy made him smile faintly. "Alcohol would be a blessing at this point." 

You returned the smile, pulling out an unmarked bottle. "It's nothing fancy, just some moonshine McNally gave me." You filled the cups generously before gesturing to the small table.  

There was a lull of silence, broken only by surprised coughs after taking a sip of the distilled moonshine. "So...how much do you remember?" He finally asked, ending the silence.

"Not much," you admitted honestly, clutching at your cup. "More...feelings than actual memories. Like you and Credence, I know you're important. But I can't remember how we met, or anything like that, even though I know...I know..."

You trailed off, an unsettled and lost expression on your face. Without thinking, Percival reached out for your hand. Your eyes flickered up to meet his when his fingers brushed yours, and your hand shifted to squeeze his. “I know I care for you,” you continued softly. “I know that you care for me, and I had this distinct feeling that this isn’t--isn’t _right._ That it’s wrong somehow, but I really don’t care.” It was like watching a dam open, releasing a flood of words as tears started to gather in the corners of your eyes. “Maybe-maybe I did agree with it at some point, maybe when I knew everything. But right now, the pain of losing you and him have left a hole in my heart that has weighed me down so much these last few weeks. I've felt like a part of me is missing, and now I understand why. I can’t-I can’t lose either of you again. I don't know if I could bear it.” 

You rubbed your eyes with your free hand. And without thinking, Percival stood, pulling you up before pulling you close. It was one thing to restrain himself from allowing this. And forbidding Credence had been hard enough. But to do both while knowing how much you missed them? It would be impossible. "You won't," he found himself murmuring as you rested your head against his shoulder. "I promise, you won't."

He couldn't guarantee that. He shouldn't be promising you anything, because there was no way he could keep that kind of promise. But right now, having you in his arms, the world suddenly felt right in what seemed like a very long time. He knew from the way you were holding on to him as if he was your lifeline, you felt the same way. 

With a chilling realization, he knew what he had to do. He would fight tooth and nail to keep you. Not just you, but the small family you had gathered around you. 

His family. 


End file.
